


Picture This

by Katef



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-09-28 16:28:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 54,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10137314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katef/pseuds/Katef
Summary: AU.  When cash-strapped grad student Blair Sandburg seeks new part-time employment, his life is changed in more ways than he could possibly have imagined.





	

**Author's Note:**

> First posted at ASR3 in February 2013, this story has been tidied up a little as part of my (very slow) on-going project to post some of my favourite stories here. There is a sequel!!
> 
> K x

**Part 1: The Goldmine Studio, Cascade, WA:**   


“That’s it, baby! Perfect! Now toss that pretty head and let me see that smile....!” 

Stan Bartlett, photographer and self-styled Artistic Director of The Goldmine Studio, took more shots of his young model, who grinned good-naturedly at his instructions and tossed his long and shining dark auburn curls away from his face to reveal a stunning bone structure which was simply made for the camera. Even as he concentrated on capturing every nuance on the beautiful and expressive face, Stan forced himself to conceal his attraction towards his latest model, knowing that the young man was an innocent to the real work carried out behind the scenes at The Goldmine, and fully prepared to bide his time grooming this tasty morsel for better things. 

As he continued to pose for Stan, Blair Sandburg chuckled cheerfully at the photographer’s comments, completely unaware that the deep throaty sound was doing delicious things to Stan’s libido. Turning this way and that as instructed, he showed off his face and body to its full advantage even though he honestly couldn’t see the attraction himself. As far as he was concerned, he was too short and too nerdy to be beautiful, but hey, if the studio wanted to pay him for a few pictures, he was certainly down with that, because he definitely needed the money.  


From Stan’s perspective, Blair’s scanty clothing - which consisted of nothing but loose cotton pants and a floating, unbuttoned white shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbows - revealed tantalising glimpses of a slender but perfectly proportioned body as Blair moved. True, Blair was on the short side, but he had surprisingly wide shoulders, a well-defined chest, narrow waist and hips, and nicely-shaped legs. His hands were elegant and expressive, and he had an ass to die for, in Stan’s not-so-humble opinion. And that face! 

Wide blue eyes shone brightly beneath a smooth, broad brow, and a neat nose and full-lipped mouth combined with a firm jaw and high cheekbones to complete the attractive picture. When Blair smiled, he revealed well-kept and even white teeth, and the long and slender neck simply begged to be licked and nibbled by an appreciative lover. And Stan wanted to be there to film the whole thing. 

However, he controlled his wild imagination with difficulty, not wanting to scare Blair away by pressuring him too soon. Patience was a virtue in this case, and Stan was determined to lure the young man into his web, already visualising the personal and financial gains to be made once Sandburg became a willing player in The Goldmine’s more lucrative productions. 

A few minutes later into the photo-shoot, Stan decided it was time to up the ante just a little. 

“Hey, Blair baby. Looking great there! But now I want to see seductive – sultry – OK?” and he grinned at his model, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. 

“Oh, sure!” replied Blair, giving him a ‘yeah, right!’ look. “And just how do you think I’m going to be able to do that?” and his throaty chuckle became a disarming giggle as his eyes twinkled in merriment. 

“Easy, love!” laughed Stan. “Tell you what; I’m sure you have a great imagination, what with all your university education. Just look over my shoulder and imagine a really hot babe has come in. She’s looking right at you, hun. She’s licking her lips all pouty-like, and making eyes at you...” 

Blair giggled again, then did as Stan told him, looking over the other man’s shoulder and doing his best to imagine a fellow – and _very_ hot – TA, Vicky Preston ogling him. The effort might have succeeded except that something very different happened to derail his train of thought. 

As Stan snapped away at Blair’s mobile face, he first grinned in smug satisfaction at the young man’s perfect ‘come-to-bed’ expression, only to scowl in consternation as Blair’s face took on a look of surprise quickly followed by curiosity then outright fear. 

“Hey, man, don’t shoot!” he stuttered, plainly addressing some unexpected visitors, and then froze, hands held out palm outward in supplication. 

Swinging about, Stan’s eyes widened in shock as he registered at whom Blair was staring. 

Lowering his camera, Stan gasped and then growled at the three armed men standing just inside the studio door. 

“What the fuck are you doing? Who are you, and what’s this all about?” _And where the fuck are our security guys?_ he thought, grinding his teeth in frustration. 

The tallest –and meanest-looking guy stepped forward, holding out an ID in the hand that wasn’t gripping his service weapon. 

“Detective Jim Ellison, Cascade PD Vice Unit. Put down that camera, and you and the pretty boy get your hands up where I can see them. And no funny business! 

“You’re both under arrest on suspicion of filming and peddling pornographic and snuff movies. Keep still while my colleagues get the cuffs on and you won’t be hurt...”  


\----------------------  


**Some while later, Cascade PD:**  


Apart from the silent uniformed officer standing by the door, Blair sat alone in a cold and shabby interview room, fiddling unhappily with the cuffs still restraining his wrists, and wondering what the hell had just happened. 

After being arrested by the Vice detectives, he had been allowed to grab his ratty sneakers and pull his old blue plaid overshirt on over his modelling costume, but that was the full extent of any courtesy shown to him. All his other clothes and his ID and wallet remained at the studio as far as he knew and he had absolutely no idea what he was doing here. 

On arrival at the PD, he, Stan and two other members of the Goldmine’s staff had been brought up to the Vice Unit’s department, where they had all been pushed into separate interview rooms, presumably for interrogation regarding the charges Detective Ellison had outlined. 

And Blair hadn’t the faintest idea as to how he was going to get out of this. 

Oh sure, he was innocent all right. He would never be involved in anything so depraved as snuff or hard-core porn however broke he might be. But he had had enough experience of the ‘pigs’ during his early years travelling with – and protesting alongside – his evergreen hippy Mom that he knew innocence didn’t automatically earn you freedom or respect. 

Just then, the door opened, and Detective Ellison strode into the room, one hand clutching the straps of Blair’s ancient backpack as he glared repressively at the young man. 

“Oh, man! Thank you!” was Blair’s first reaction as he gifted the dour cop with a blinding smile. 

“I didn’t think I’d see my pack again, man. Thank you so much for picking it up for me!” 

Hard-eyed and sneering disdainfully at the earnest comment, Jim sat himself down opposite his prisoner, pausing for a long - and for Blair very uncomfortable – moment before speaking. 

“No big deal, Sandburg. And definitely not for your convenience. Just made it easier to check out your ID before questioning, OK? 

“Now, according to your driver’s licence, you’re almost twenty one. I understand you’re a grad student at Rainier, and you’ve already got your Bachelor’s and Master’s degrees. That means you must have started school there real young, like some sort of child genius. So tell me Darwin, why the fuck would you be working at a dive like The Goldmine? Come on, kid. I’m all ears!” 

Ducking his head and blushing in hurt and embarrassment, Blair bit his lip before responding, his pain reflected in his tone as he murmured, “You know nothing about me, _Detective._ All you’re going off are a few facts you’ve pulled up from my ID, and suppositions based on the circumstances in which you found me. You have _no idea_ who I am, and you have no right to pre-judge me! Mom was right after all. The pigs aren’t to be trusted. All they’ll do is try to shaft you to get an arrest...!” and he stared at the table, angry and ashamed both of his heart-felt but probably ill-considered words and the instant if unwelcome physical response his interrogator had triggered within him. 

Because wouldn’t you just know it? Jim Ellison was probably the most gorgeous hunk of a man he’d seen in months, and he just had to be a cop! Life just sucked sometimes. 

When there was no response, and the silence began to stretch uneasily between them, Blair raised his head a little and peeked up at the cop from beneath long lashes, cheeks still rosy from discomfort. His blush deepened as he registered the sardonic grin on the handsome features as Ellison raised a quizzical eyebrow before finally speaking. 

“So why don’t you tell me about yourself, Chief? Convince me of your ‘innocence’? I’ve got plenty of time...” and he tilted his head slightly, tacitly inviting Blair to begin. 

Knowing he had nothing to lose by trying, Blair took a deep, cleansing breath before meeting the cop’s compelling gaze with a frank and open one of his own. 

“OK, man. Well, like you said, I’m a grad student and newly appointed Teaching Assistant in the Anthropology Department at Rainier U, and I’m about to start my doctoral programme. But I guess you know that tuition fees and books are expensive, right? And the stipend I get from teaching and a few grants don’t even begin to cover everything, let alone give me anything left to live on. So like most broke students, I get whatever temporary work I can fit in to make ends meet.” 

Seeing a bored and slightly disbelieving look cross Ellison’s face, he continued more forcefully, his own expression aggrieved. 

“Look, man, I’m not trying for sympathy here! Goddess knows I know I won’t get any even if I wanted to! I’m just explaining the circumstances, OK?” 

“Calm down, kid. I’m not judging you – yet!” the big man responded, a flicker of amusement finally lighting his cold expression. “Just cut to the chase, huh? I need facts, not your life story.” 

Not knowing whether to be further aggravated or relieved by the cop’s words and apparently softening attitude, Blair deliberately calmed himself before continuing. 

“Right then. Facts. Got it. A friend of mine from the Art Department said Professor Davies was looking for a model for one of his human anatomy study groups, and suggested I apply. So I did. The money was a great help, and I found it wasn’t anything like as embarrassing as I thought it would be. Very matter-of-fact, you know?” 

“I take it you mean you had to pose in the nude, huh, kid?” 

“Well, yeah. And when the course had finished, Prof Davies said he knew someone – an ex-student – who’d specialised in fashion photography and who was always looking for new models. He gave me Stan Bartlett’s phone number, and I called him a couple weeks ago. We arranged to meet, and he said he could use me and would prepare a portfolio of shots for me if I wanted for future reference. Today was my second photo session at The Goldmine, and that’s all I know.” 

As he wound up his succinct explanation, Blair locked his gaze with Ellison’s, trying hard to convince the man of his veracity. The detective regarded him critically for long minutes before nodding briskly and getting to his feet. 

“OK, Sandburg. You can go,” and when Blair’s mouth dropped open in astonishment, he continued brusquely, “Word of advice. Keep away from places like The Goldmine in future. A pretty little thing like you could well end up in the sort of production only real perverts get to enjoy.” 

As Blair remained speechless in shock, Jim quickly uncuffed the student and nodded to the uniform guarding the door. “See Mr Sandburg out, will you Marty? I’ll tell Captain Sullivan he’s no longer a suspect, and get on with interrogating Bartlett again.” 

And before Blair could utter a word, he opened the door and strode away down the corridor, leaving a totally bemused Blair staring after his retreating back.  


\----------------------------  


As a very unsettled but immensely grateful Blair made his way back to his warehouse ‘home’, Jim Ellison was being called in to his Captain’s office for a consultation, or, in other words, an irritated demand for an explanation of the Detective’s behaviour during the on-going interrogations. 

“So what gives you the right to release Sandburg so soon, Jim? Please tell me you’ve got a good reason for cutting him loose, or are you going to tell me it’s another of your strange ‘hunches’ ?” 

Torn between anger and frustration, his detective glared at him for a moment while he formulated his response, knowing full well that Sullivan wasn’t going to like it whatever he said. Finally sighing somewhat despondently, Jim answered as best he could. 

“Look, I’m sorry, Captain. You already know it’s not something I _can_ explain properly. It’s just that I can tell when someone’s lying to me, is all. And it’s happening more and more frequently. I just _know_ it somehow...” and he rubbed a hand over his face, trying to expunge the lines of strain that were plain to see. 

Softening his tone despite his cynicism, Sullivan regarded his man with more sympathy as he said, “The organic lie-detector again, huh?” and favoured Jim with a wry grin. 

“I do admit that when you get these ‘feelings’ you’re usually right on the nail, but it’s getting hard to come up with an acceptable explanation for my reports, Jim. You’ve got to see that. I mean, it’s all very well you telling me that so-and-so is guilty as sin, and so-and-so is innocent, but I need hard facts to back up your claims. It simply won’t cut it for me to tell all and sundry that my man reckons he can hear people’s hearts beating too fast, and can smell their fear. Evidence, Jim! I need hard evidence! 

“Hell, you know I trust you, Jim, and you’ve already gotten a rep for integrity and a first-class arrest and prosecution rate. But this is going too far. It’s getting into the realms of science fiction. You must see that, man!” he ended on a note of entreaty. 

“Yeah, I realise that, Captain,” Jim replied tiredly. “I guess it’s not enough to compare what I can do with those profiler guys who claim to read expressions and body language is it?” and he laughed humourlessly as he answered himself. 

“Nah. Not likely and just as subjective anyway. And probably inadmissible as evidence in court also, I guess. Just because it works well on TV juries doesn’t mean to say real life’s like that, huh? Guess I’m just turning into some sort of freak. That’s what my Dad would say, so I understand how hard it is for you to accept my foibles, Captain. 

“Look, sir,” he continued earnestly. “I promise not to act impulsively on my beliefs in future without warning you first, and I’ll try to make sure that I have hard facts to back up my instincts. In this instance I know that I was right about Sandburg, and I’m absolutely certain he was just an innocent caught up in the bust. Even Bartlett said as much, not that that means anything, since he’s still denying that he’s done anything wrong anyway. And now he’s all lawyered up, he won’t be saying much else unless charged. 

“And unless something solid turns up soon, it looks like that may not happen,” he muttered angrily, his gut feeling telling him that in all likelihood the operation had been deliberately compromised in some way. 

Just then, the phone on Sullivan’s desk rang and he picked it up with a touch of trepidation, uneasily sure that Jim’s prediction was about to be proven correct. A few minutes later, he slapped the handset down again; unaware that Jim had heard both sides of the conversation with ease, since the detective’s carefully controlled expression betrayed no hint of reaction other than natural curiosity. 

Staring grimly at the innocent instrument for a moment, Sullivan raised his eyes to meet Jim’s gaze, his tone harsh as he said, “Well, I’d hoped you were wrong in your assertion, but unfortunately it looks like your colleagues are going to confirm it. Mancini and Fellowes have finished their interrogations of the other suspects, and I’ve just had an interim report from the team conducting the search of the premises. Unless they find something very soon, I have a bad feeling that there’s no material evidence there any longer. Almost as if they were tipped off,” he added nearly _sotto voce_ , tone bitter and lips compressed in a thin line. 

Looking up again at Jim he said firmly, “As soon as forensics have finished up on the scene, I want you and the rest of the team to report to me in the conference room, and let’s hope we can get something out of this mess....”  


\-------------------------  


Several hours later, a tired and dispirited Jim drove home to his newly-acquired loft apartment at 852 Prospect. Clutching the greasily wrapped take-out Wonderburger which was all he could be bothered to grab by way of dinner, he wearily climbed the stairs to #307, and let himself in. Dropping his keys on the side table, he hung up his coat and kicked off his hiking boots before depositing the burger on the kitchen counter, intending to grab a beer from the refrigerator to wash it down with. 

As he popped the top off the beer, he realised abruptly that he had no appetite anyway, so dumped the still-wrapped burger in the refrigerator, idly considering that it would warm up again for a snack later if wanted. 

And the way he was feeling at the moment, it was highly unlikely that he would bother. 

Taking a long slug from the bottle in his hand, Jim looked around him at the Spartan interior of his apartment, for once actually registering what he was seeing. Although light and airy, and immaculately clean, the space lacked any sense of homeliness, as there were no knickknacks or added decorative touches to be seen, and Jim was forced to admit that in the months since he’d moved in, he had made no effort to personalise the place at all. Frowning at the thought, he settled himself on the couch in front of the TV, automatically reaching for the remote as he began to surf through the channels in an attempt to find something of interest to divert his attention from his sombre introspection. 

Finding nothing but replays of Jags games and local news read by plastic anchormen and irrepressibly chirpy reporters, Jim flicked the TV off again as he finished his beer, intending to get another to accompany his deepening depression. 

He was honest enough to admit to himself that the austere surroundings weren’t simply due to his preference for solitude and a tendency towards order and neatness to the point of OCD. It was also because clutter and unnecessary scents and bright colours offended his senses, which were growing more and more sensitive and troublesome by the day, or so it seemed to him. Sighing unhappily, he thought that Captain Sullivan and his colleagues at the PD didn’t know the half of it when it came to his so-called ‘gifts’. 

True, they were aware that he seemed to be able to tell whether a suspect was lying or not, but most assumed that he had some sort of inherent intuition. At least a few of the uniforms seemed to think that he was some sort of weirdo psychic; a supposition that afforded Jim a touch of self-deprecating amusement. He had once attempted to explain to Sullivan that it was more a ‘sense’ impression, formed through his ability to hear the suspects’ erratic heartbeats and smell their distress and fear. He could also see clearly the minute contractions in their pupils and the dew of nervous sweat popping up along upper lip and hairline. 

However, once subjected to the incredulous expression on his Captain’s face, and hearing his scoffing reaction, Jim had shut down immediately and decided that he would keep all further explanations to himself rather than set himself up as a target for ridicule. 

It wasn’t as if he could control his emerging extra-sensory input anyway. He couldn’t guarantee that he would be able to see or hear anything out of the ordinary on demand, just as occasionally he could be taken completely by surprise by sensory spikes which hurt sometimes to the point of incapacitating him for minutes on end. So far he had managed to conceal his problems from his colleagues, but it was only a matter of time before they interfered with his ability to do his job, and he gritted his teeth at the prospect. Gods! If he continued like this, he’d be carried away by the men in white coats and thrown into a padded cell somewhere. The idea was terrifying, and Jim forcibly turned his attention to another subject, which was more immediately aggravating but less personally worrying.  


\--------------------  


Despite the Vice team’s best efforts, the ‘Goldmine’ bust had turned out to be a disaster. Although carefully planned, and acting upon detailed information provided by a previously reliable source, no evidence of illicit filming had been discovered. True, there was ample evidence of provocatively staged sets and props to be found in the rear of the large property, but nothing to suggest film production of any scale. Also, all traces of the suspected end product had been removed along with any existing digital soft and hardware. Likewise any and all information, whether electronic or hard-copy, pertaining to purveyors of snuff and porn or their client base had either been downloaded or erased and destroyed. To all intents and purposes, The Goldmine was superficially what it claimed to be: a photographic studio and model recruitment agency, and nothing more. 

Detectives Mancini and Fellowes reported that the two suspects they had interviewed were nothing more than ‘gofers’, employed to fetch and carry, and set up props and scenes for Bartlett’s photo shoots. In Fellowes’ words, they were ‘too stupid to be trusted with anything other than busy work’, and guilty of nothing but unquestioning loyalty to their pay-source. Likewise, the security guards were supplied by a bona fide company nearby, and were employed to back up the external CCTV systems only. They had no access to, or interest in what went on inside the building before they came on duty. And if there was another location involved, they knew nothing about it. 

As for Bartlett, it was common knowledge on the street that he had mob connections, and at least one silent partner bankrolling his enterprises. However, so far it was pure hearsay. There was no tangible proof of their identity, and he certainly wasn’t telling. Even now he was on his way home, his high-priced lawyer having insisted on his immediate release since no charges had been brought against him, leaving Jim and his fellow detectives with nothing but a bad taste in the mouth. 

And by far the worst aspect was that Mancini’s informant had disappeared apparently without trace, and all the circumstantial evidence surrounding the unsuccessful bust suggested that there had been a leak from within the department itself. Unless further information came to light, and very soon, the investigation was dead in the water. 

Captain Sullivan had conjectured that there might be a remote possibility of squeezing evidence from some of the surviving ‘porn stars’ exploited by Bartlett, if only they could be tracked down. However, the cynic in Jim believed they would be highly unlikely to testify on the grounds that they needed to protect themselves from the possibility of extreme retribution. And he was equally sure that the more successful of them were hardly going to give up the source of their well-paid employment anyway on purely moral grounds. 

Distasteful as it was, the unit had to acknowledge that they were basically back to square one, and it was up to them to find a new means of investigating Bartlett and his sleazy partners if they were to have any hope of a conviction.  


\--------------------  


As Jim mulled over the case, and slowly downed his second beer, he suddenly sat up in his seat, struck by inspiration and certain he knew how to proceed. 

Quickly reaching for his cordless phone, he speed-dialled Captain Sullivan at his home, and waited impatiently as the phone continued to ring, silently urging the man to pick up already. 

When it was finally answered, Jim spoke urgently; needing to convince his boss that he had a workable proposition. 

“Hey, Captain, Ellison here. Look, I’m sorry to bother you at home, but I was thinking about the Bartlett case. How about we set up a sting? We’d need to keep it very quiet in view of the potential for an internal leak, but how about planting an insider? If Bartlett could be tempted to use our man in one of his more ‘adult’ productions, we’d have him dead to rights. What do you think?” 

“Hold on Jim, let me think...!” came Sullivan’s bemused response. “OK,” he said after a moment, “In theory I know it’s the only way we could really hope to nail the sleaze-bag and his cronies, but who were you thinking of as bait? We don’t have anyone free within the department who would be suitable as far as I know. You, Mancini and Fellowes would be instantly recognised for sure, unless you have an ‘in’ with someone in another department? And if it’s someone from outside the PD, just how reliable would they be?” 

“Um, well, as to that, sir, I admit I haven’t approached him yet, because I wanted to know if you were on board with my suggestion. But I was thinking of that young grad student, Blair Sandburg. He struck me as being trustworthy in spite of his hippy-dippy appearance. And when I checked his file, I found that he already has a history of protesting for popular ‘good causes’ such as environmental tree-hugging and ‘save the rainforest’ stuff, not to mention civil rights issues. Nothing violent, though. So I figure it wouldn’t take much to persuade him to act on his principles under these circumstances, because he sure came over as the type of idealist who genuinely wants to set the world to rights all by himself. And not only that, but he’s got the looks for the job--” 

“Oh, come on, Jim! You’ve only interviewed him once! How can you be so sure – or is it that hunch thing again? Look, tell you what. Go see him, and put the suggestion to him if you want. And if – and _only_ if – he agrees, bring him in to see me and we’ll discuss it further, OK? Now, if it’s all the same to you, I need my sleep. Goodnight, Ellison!” and he put the phone down, leaving a faintly surprised but cautiously hopeful Jim to further develop his plan.  


\-----------------------  


**Same evening, Blair’s warehouse, Cascade Docks:**  


Blair shoved open the badly-fitting door to his warehouse home, moving stiffly and painfully as if he had just completed several rounds in the boxing ring and lost. However, he was ruefully aware that the discomfort was psychological rather than physical. It was his psyche that had taken the punishment, and his self-esteem that felt as if it had been used as a punching bag – the emotional drubbing leaving bruises that went soul-deep. 

Sighing unhappily, he shuffled across the bare floorboards to the small living area which he had fashioned out of old packing cases and pallets and furnished sparsely with thrift store discards. He dropped his backpack on the ratty couch that also served as his bed, intent on making a cup of tea in an attempt to sooth his frayed nerves. However, glancing down at himself, he realised that he was still wearing the outfit he’d been modelling, and the connotations made him feel instantly if undeservedly dirty. Wrinkling his nose in distaste, he turned towards his makeshift bathroom area, hoping that there would be at least enough warm water to wash the imaginary filth from his weary body. 

Luckily for Blair, there was just enough lukewarm water to afford him a brief but thorough shower, and after grabbing some old but comfortable sweats, warm woollen socks and a couple of layers of soft and cosy sweatshirts, he felt slightly more relaxed and able to enjoy his cup of herbal tea. 

Settling himself in the corner of the old sofa bed, he sipped the hot drink, savouring the warmth soaking through his palms to thaw his chilled hands as well as his insides, and he allowed himself the luxury of losing himself in his thoughts. Even as he did so, he was miserably aware that he wouldn’t necessarily like what conclusions he would inevitably reach concerning his present state of mind. 

Contrary to the misconceptions of hard-nosed cynics such as Detective Jim Ellison, Blair wasn’t some naive innocent abroad. Sure, his innate optimism and cheerful outlook inclined him to seek the best in every situation, and believe in the intrinsic goodness of his fellow man – and woman. However, his itinerant childhood had ensured that he had come across many sticky situations and had encountered more examples of human frailty and even downright wickedness than he was comfortable with. 

Nevertheless, he had always tried to seek the silver lining in every cloud that had come his way, and endeavoured to learn from each experience. His natural inquisitiveness and general exuberance for life ensured that for the most part he could ride the highs and avoid the lows of whatever life threw at him. And he was, after all, a recognised genius. _Not that that was an indication of common sense though_ , he thought dispiritedly. 

And on this occasion he certainly felt distressed and disheartened at his own gullibility. For someone who prided himself in his intuition regarding friends and acquaintances, he recognised that he had been thoroughly manipulated, and his shame and embarrassment ran deep. 

He had willingly allowed Prof Davies to persuade him to contact Bartlett, trusting implicitly in the older man’s integrity, and certain that the suggestion regarding part time employment was completely innocent and meant with the best intentions. 

_And perhaps it was,_ he considered, brow puckered in contemplation. Perhaps Prof Davies genuinely had no idea as to the path his ex-student had chosen to pursue. He may even now believe that Stan was an up-and-coming fashion photographer pure and simple. 

_Yeah, sure!_ the newly-awakened cynic in Blair countered. _Like he didn’t know. Huh! Don’t be any more of a dumb-ass than you can help, Sandburg. You’ve been played, and played masterfully, Super Genius. So suck it up and accept the fact._

But he genuinely hadn’t seen any sign of alleged nefarious activities at The Goldmine. At least not in the areas he had had free access to, and to be honest, he hadn’t really been inclined to poke around where he hadn’t been invited. He had simply been won over by Bartlett’s friendly approach and the prospect of good money which Blair had hoped would cover his tuition fees for the upcoming term, if not for the whole year. 

At least he had had some good luck at the PD, even if it was completely unexpected. He certainly hadn’t considered that the big Detective who had arrested and interviewed him would have believed him in any way. He shivered suddenly at the memory of Ellison’s cold-eyed sneer, reliving his terror and total conviction that he was about to be charged, innocent or not. The Vice cop’s attitude and arrogant self-confidence had intimidated Blair, as he was certain it was meant to, so it had thrown him for a loop when the man had simply let him go. Where the hell had _that_ come from? Not that Blair was complaining, of course. And the guy was hot, after all. 

And that was another thing. Blair was totally confused with his own reaction to Ellison, the man’s attitude and overt aggression notwithstanding. 

Blair knew he wasn’t averse to looking at an attractive man. He had even dated a couple in the past, even though they had never gone very far. As his free-wheeling Mom had always said, it was the person not the package that was important, and he had always thought it a good maxim to live by. It was just that for the most part women were safer, and he really enjoyed making love to them whenever he had the opportunity. 

On the other hand, Ellison had frightened him even as he had felt an unwilling surge of arousal in the man’s presence. Frowning deeply, he deliberately recalled everything he could about the detective’s appearance, and was bemused when the beginnings of heat coiled in his belly again, accompanied by a frisson of unease. 

Ellison was a fine figure of a man to be sure. Over six feet in height, he was broad-shouldered and buff as if he spent many hours working out, but not in the narcissistic way of gym queens. He moved with the predatory grace of a large hunting cat, and the ice-blue eyes missed nothing. To Blair’s way of thinking, he had looked every inch the Vice cop, from the Jags cap pulled down over his brow, to the single earring and neat goatee. Add to that a sleeveless denim vest that revealed his impressive biceps, tight blue jeans clinging to long and shapely legs and scuffed hiking boots and the man could have blended in to anything from a biker bar to an S & M club in Blair’s opinion. Not that Blair actually had much experience of the latter, though. He just had a very active imagination and an anthropologist’s ability to observe and absorb all relevant information from the sidelines in any given situation and at any opportunity.  


Deeply uneasy at the direction in which his thoughts were taking him, Blair finished his tea and deliberately turned his attention to his agenda for the next few days, hoping that concentrating on the more mundane would bring about a return of his inner equilibrium. However, he abruptly felt the onset of unexpected exhaustion, so found himself instead contemplating an early night. Yawning widely, he morosely considered that he must be far more upset than he had believed, because for a normally hyperactive grad student who regularly pulled all-nighters catching up on assignments and marking and grading exam papers, to turn in at such an early hour was almost unheard of. 

But there was no point in fighting it, so, bowing to the inevitable; Blair snuggled up under as many layers as he could pile on the ancient bed, and settled down to sleep, trusting that the new day would bring about a renewal of his usual _joie de vivre,_ and a return to relative normality.  


\-----------------------  


**Following morning, Rainier University campus:**  


With a sigh of relief, Blair pulled up in the parking lot nearest to Hargrove Hall, where the Anthropology Department – and his tiny cubbyhole of an office – were located. He had had an early start this morning, having had to take two bus rides to The Goldmine to retrieve his ancient Corvair, but it felt good to have his wheels back again. Not that he wasn’t grateful for the lift home from the PD by two obliging uniformed officers; but he really hated to rely on others any more than necessary for anything, however trifling. 

Despite an unsettled night, punctuated by disjointed and rather disturbing dreams featuring himself posing virtually naked for a manic-looking Bartlett before being dragged away in chains by a furiously angry Detective Ellison, Blair actually felt pretty good. Not entirely bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, to be sure, but at least in a calmer and more focussed state of mind. 

Having accepted his stupidity on this occasion, he determined to put the episode behind him and concentrate on his studies, because no good could come of continued self-abasement. That path just led to depression and a further chipping away at an already low self-esteem. He would just be more careful when seeking part-time employment in future, and be grateful that he had gotten away lightly this time. 

But first, he needed to confront Professor Davies. He had no illusions that the meeting would be pleasant. If anything, it could turn out to be positively acrimonious, but for his own peace of mind, Blair needed to know whether the older man had deliberately set Blair up for a potential disaster. To that end, he was prepared to demand an explanation, even if such a harsh attitude was contrary to everything normally expected of Blair’s easy-going nature. 

And if he found that Davies wasn’t innocent after all, then at least the fact that Blair was aware of his nefarious activities might persuade the Professor to break off his relationship with Bartlett and his ilk. 

Because at the end of the day, Blair had no wish to get Davies arrested. He had genuinely liked the man after all, having gotten to know him fairly well during his modelling stint for the art study group, and he wanted to give the professor a chance to set things right. 

Leaning his head back against the headrest for a long moment, he closed his eyes and breathed deeply to centre himself again and psyche himself up for the potentially ugly confrontation to come. 

Finally feeling that he was as ready as he would ever be, he sighed a tad shakily and climbed out of his car, reaching in to grab his backpack before locking the vehicle. Turning around, intending to head directly to the Art Department, he ran straight into what felt like the proverbial immovable object. With a yelp of surprise, he staggered backwards, and if the ‘immovable object’, aka Detective Jim Ellison, hadn’t grabbed his arm, he would surely have landed on his ass on the pavement. 

“Mr Sandburg, I presume,” said Ellison, face reflecting wry amusement. “I wonder if I could have a word. In private....”  


\---------------------  


**Earlier that same morning, Jim:**  


At 0 dark 30, Jim woke to his internal alarm clock, feeling as if he had hardly slept at all. True, he had finally snatched a few hours, but not before tossing and turning for way too long, unable to contain his turbulent thoughts and emotions, which, he was ruefully aware, were nearly all concerned with Blair Sandburg. 

Despite the easy camaraderie of his years in the military, Jim was a loner by nature, and guarded his independence jealously, even to the point of refusing to work with a partner unless specifically ordered to do so. He was of the opinion that he didn’t need to rely on anyone but himself, because to do otherwise was to set himself up for disappointment. After a lifetime of betrayal of one sort or another, he had learned the hard way that if you trusted your body and / or soul to someone else, you were sure to get burned, and it simply wasn’t worth the grief. And if living alone frequently equated to actual loneliness, well, it wasn’t as if he wasn’t used to it by now. 

So why was he drawn to a mouthy neo-hippy student who he had met only twenty four hours ago? To be sure, the boy was quite lovely, with those long, silky curls, huge blue eyes and a mouth – and ass – to die for, but there had to be more to it than that. During his stint in Vice, Jim had come across – and occasionally been involved with – pretty boys like Sandburg. It was par for the course for Jim, and part of what made him so successful as an undercover cop. No one in Vice questioned his bisexuality, it being one department within the PD where the ‘Don’t ask, don’t tell’ concept was firmly established. But Jim felt certain that there was something else. Something that could affect him deeply if he allowed it to. 

Thing was, could he afford to find out? Could he afford _not_ to? 

Swinging his legs out of bed, he padded downstairs to turn on the coffee machine before going to the bathroom to take his customary five-minute shower. And found that this morning it was agonising. The hot water felt like thousands of individual needles piercing suddenly hypersensitive skin, and he almost screamed at the overpowering sensation. Quickly shutting off the spray, he grabbed a towel, only to yelp at the touch as the normally soft material turned to sandpaper-like roughness. 

Gingerly patting himself down to rid himself of the worst of the moisture, he sat down heavily on the closed lid of the toilet, and worked at regaining his equilibrium. 

Well, shit. Not only were his hearing, smell and sight enhanced, but now apparently, so was his sense of touch. Could it get any worse? _Of course it could_ he answered himself. _All I need now is for my sense of taste to go nuts on me, and I’ve got the full set! Jeez! And just how long will it take me to go completely batshit crazy?_

He sat for a few minutes, working at containing his pain enough to move, then dragged himself back up to his room to dress. He finished the task using every bit of his considerable willpower, and gradually found that if he concentrated hard enough, he could manage reasonably well, even if not comfortably. But how long he could maintain such a constant high level of single-minded effort remained to be seen. 

Gritting his teeth in anger and frustration, he determined to carry on for as long as possible, since being a cop was everything to him, and he didn’t want to have to give it up until things got so out of hand that he could no longer function adequately. 

And what happened when he reached that point, he didn’t dare contemplate, because it would most likely involve eating his gun. And he had work to do before that.  


\--------------------------  


A short while later found him parked outside a run-down warehouse in one of the seedier areas of Cascade docks. Having called in to the office to explain that he was going to try to track down Sandburg first thing, he had obtained the student’s address and driven straight here. And it was truly awful. He knew immediately that Sandburg definitely did live in some part of the shabby building, because he could readily smell the young man’s residual enticing scent, but his on-again, off-again hearing told him that Sandburg wasn’t at home. 

There were certainly plenty of other creatures present, however, as Jim could make out the rapid tattoo of many tiny hearts beating, and hear the patter of tiny rodent feet running around the rafters. Grimacing in disgust, Jim contemplated entering the property just to see it for himself, since the warped and ill-fitting door looked as if a single hard shove would push it in. However, thinking better of it, he decided to drive instead to Rainier, since he was certain the student would probably be there by now. Unconsciously scratching at the itchy skin beneath the cuffs of his softest sweater, he started up his old jeep, and turned around to head to the U. 

On arriving at the campus, Jim followed the signs to Hargrove Hall, knowing already that it housed the Anthropology Department. He grinned in satisfaction when he spotted an elderly Corvair parked nearby, its driver still seated within, apparently deep in thought. He pulled into a vacant space and parked up, quickly exiting the jeep as he watched Sandburg straighten up, and take a few deep breaths prior to climbing out of the vehicle, obviously too lost in his introspection to have noted Jim’s stealthy approach. 

Jim’s smirk widened when the young man spun around, eyes focussed inwards as he stepped forwards only to slam right into Jim’s chest, eeping in alarm and arms windmilling while he fought to keep his balance. Reaching out quickly, Jim grabbed Blair’s upper arm to steady him, absently registering a tingling sensation running up his own arm from the contact before releasing Sandburg, but discounting it almost immediately as unimportant as he gazed down at the flushed and embarrassed – and absolutely captivating – face peeking nervously back up at him. 

Mouth quirking in a wry grin, Jim murmured, “Mr Sandburg, I presume. I wonder if I could have a word. In private....” 

Swallowing hard and feeling as if his heart was trying to beat its way out of his chest, Blair took a few moments to try to calm himself before growling accusingly, “Jeez, man, you scared the shit out of me! Do you usually try to sneak up on people for fun, or is it a cop thing? ‘Cause I have to say, Detective, it’s totally uncool!” However, when Ellison’s expression only grew more amused, he found himself blushing even more, and inwardly cursed himself for acting like some coy young schoolkid confronting the object of his first major crush. And the feeling angered him intensely. 

“Look, man. I want to cooperate, because I really appreciated your letting me go yesterday. But can we do this some other time? I want to go see Professor Davies before my first tutorial, and I don’t have much time right now.” 

At his words, Ellison’s face lost its amused look, and became serious as he frowned slightly. “Would that be the professor who pointed you in Bartlett’s direction, Chief? Because if it is, I strongly recommend that you give him a wide berth. Or at least, listen to what I have to tell you first,” and he quirked an eyebrow at Blair, tacitly requesting his acceptance and trying to convey his sincerity. 

Frowning himself as he studied the handsome and compelling face before him, Blair finally sighed in reluctant capitulation. 

“Sure, OK, man. I’ll listen to what you have to say. It’s the least I can do after all, since you were so understanding down at the PD yesterday. Let’s go to my office...” and he turned away, climbing the steps up to Hargrove Hall’s imposing entrance, acutely aware of the big cop’s proprietary hand at the small of his back, and guiltily enjoying every second of the easy and unaffected contact.   


\------------------------  


Blair was uncharacteristically quiet during their trip down to his tiny basement office, because in all honesty, he was feeling really confused by his emotional reaction to Ellison’s presence. If he hadn’t already been feeling somewhat fragile, thanks to yesterday’s fiasco, he would undoubtedly have been revelling in the big man’s company, and talking up a storm in his usual fashion, expressive hands waving to punctuate his comments. 

But this time he was uneasily aware of his physical attraction to the cop, even as he was frightened by the barely-concealed air of menace that the man exuded. He had certainly never been into any sort of pain or aggressive sex before, consensual or not, and the feeling of arousal Ellison’s presence engendered within him was disconcerting to say the least. Add to that the previous night’s strangely evocative dreams, and Blair’s confusion and discomfort blossomed even further. And what was even more worrying was that Blair was certain that Ellison was somehow aware of his confusion, and was thoroughly enjoying it. 

“Here we are, man,” he said with relief when they reached a door labelled ‘Artefact Storage Room 3’, underneath which a handwritten card was taped, saying ‘Blair Sandburg, MA’. Feeling much more comfortable on his home turf, he unlocked the door and turned to Jim to usher him inside. 

At Jim’s quizzical glance, Blair chuckled disarmingly and responded, “See, man, office space is at a premium in Hargrove, so I sort of eased my way in here, and when nobody complained, I just moved in. It beats having to share with any other TAs, because ‘hot-desking’ is such a drag, man!” and he grinned cheekily at his visitor. 

“Take a seat, man,” he continued, pushing aside a pile of magazines and collecting up a set of blue books which were cluttering up the only available chairs. 

Dumping the blue books on his desk, he sat down behind it, and fixed Jim with an inquisitive gaze. “OK, man, I’m all ears. Tell me all...” 

So Jim did.  


\-------------------------  


A short while later, Jim wound down his explanation, and sat back waiting for Sandburg’s reaction to his final proposition. While he had been speaking, Blair’s expressive face had mirrored his swiftly-changing emotions as he veered from inquisitive, through suspicious, incredulous to outright stunned. 

“Oh, man! You’ve got to be kidding me! I don’t know what to say! I mean, me? Why would you think _I_ could do this...this...’inside man’ stuff? I’m just a student, man, not some sort of undercover cop. It’s crazy, Detective. And it’s dangerous, man. This is me, Blair Sandburg, coward at heart, saying ‘No way, man’! I choose to live! 

“Look, I realise that you guys need to stop Stan and his buddies. I mean, hard-core porn and stuff – it’s, like, bad news for the victims and so bad for the karma, I know that. But don’t you have some suitable cop from your own department who can do it? And how would I get in anyway? I’m sure Bartlett already knows I was released without charge, and if Prof Davies is involved, he’s not going to trust me again, is he?” 

“Well, I’m not so sure about that, Chief,” replied Jim. “Let me explain how I think this can go down, OK? Just bear with me a bit longer before you write it off completely,” and he was gratified when Blair gazed at him for a moment before offering a small nod of agreement. 

“Thing is, Chief, that we both know Bartlett already likes you as a model, and I hardly think it’s a stretch of the imagination to believe that he was considering grooming you for his more adult productions. Judging by what our informant told us, you would be just his type. And I think I’m right in saying that you liked him, didn’t you?” 

At Blair’s blushing nod of embarrassed affirmation, he continued. 

“It’s OK, Sandburg. He’s a personable man on the surface, after all. He couldn’t maintain a successful studio as a front if he was an obvious sleazebag. He’s intelligent, a gifted photographer, and a good businessman. It’s just a pity that he’s also amoral and greedy. Anyone else would be content with the legitimate business, but he has his eyes on a whole lot more. And there’s a hell of a lot of money to be made from black market porno. 

“Anyway, I’m thinking that you could maybe play on your ‘naive, happy-hippy’ persona. You sure look the part, if you don’t mind me saying so. You had me convinced anyhow, until I actually talked to you, and I can’t see you having any trouble convincing Bartlett that you’re innocent of anything but being in the wrong place at the wrong time. And if you play up the whole ‘poverty-stricken student’ thing, I’m certain he’ll bite. 

“But if you do agree to help us, I promise you that I’ll be watching your back at all times. And I’ll never let you get into any really dangerous situations. Be more than my job’s worth!” he added with a rueful grin, trying to lighten the atmosphere a little. 

As he carefully catalogued Blair’s responses, he was quietly pleased to note a slight but definite thawing in the student’s demeanour, so he decided to go for broke. 

“Without putting too fine a point on it, Sandburg, you could well be saving other hard-up students like yourself from a world of hurt. Not to mention street kids and runaways who get dragged into this sort of evil shit. It’s not just prostitution and drugs that pull them in. There are worse ways to go...” and he sat back, silently willing the younger man to relent. 

For long moments, Blair stared down at his clasped hands, head bowed in thought. He was well aware that Ellison had pushed all his buttons, intentionally or not. Whilst still scared as hell, his natural ebullience was pushing to the fore, along with his deeply entrenched desire to Do The Right Thing. He had been brought up to believe he could make a difference, so this seemed like an ideal opportunity to live up to his own principles. Finally he looked up and met Jim’s gaze, his own expression undoubtedly nervous but resolute. 

“OK, man. Say I agree to help you. How do I deal with Prof Davies? I mean, I was going to confront him to see if I could get him to admit complicity in putting likely candidates in Stan’s way. If he’s involved, he’ll know by now that I was released without charge. He’ll probably think I cooperated with the pigs to save my own skin.” 

“Well, actually, Chief, I don’t think so. After all, you didn’t know anything anyway, so there was nothing to tell. And with your background of peaceful protesting, I’m sure he won’t believe you’ve suddenly sided with the forces of oppression, eh?” 

Chuckling despite himself, Blair replied, “I guess you’re right there, detective. I mean, I know you’ll have been able to check out my record over the last few years. I started young after all, man. My mom Naomi was always into fighting for civil liberties and saving the planet and stuff, and took me along with her even as a baby. Kind of grew up believing I had to continue the family tradition. Not that she’s retired, man. You should see her, Detective Ellison. Still as beautiful and full of energy as ever. And still travelling...” he tailed off a little sadly. 

“Anyhow,” he continued, visibly turning his attention to matters in hand with a marked determination. “If you think I can be trusted to placate Prof Davies, I’ll do my best to infiltrate Stan’s little empire, OK? As long as you promise I’ll have full back-up,” he added, his confident façade slipping again. “I mean, it is only information you’re after isn’t it? I don’t have to do anything but look, listen and report...?” 

Unable to resist the appeal of the huge and pleading blue eyes locked with his own, Jim responded easily. 

“That I can promise you, Chief. And thank you for listening to me. I truly believe that, with your help, we can shut this operation down. Now, I’ll let you get on with your day. I suggest that you delay getting in touch with Stan for a day or so, and when you do, let me know when and where you’re going to meet him. You won’t see me, but I’ll be watching, OK? I’m going to go back to the PD now and update my Captain. He’ll want to meet with you before the sting really gets going, so I hope that won’t put you off. He’s an OK guy. I don’t think you’ll feel intimidated – I hope! Have a nice day, Chief,” and he pushed himself to his feet, suddenly needing to get back into the open air and away from Sandburg’s enticing aroma. 

“Um, sure, Detective. See you soon, I guess?” 

“Count on it, Chief. And you can call me Jim,” was the amiable response as Jim walked to the door, leaving Blair staring after him feeling more confused than he could ever remember in his young life thus far. 

As Jim walked back to his jeep, he was struck forcibly by two thoughts that nearly threw him for a loop. Firstly, he was uncomfortably aware that he’d deliberately manipulated Sandburg to satisfy his own ends. 

And secondly, he realised that his wayward senses hadn’t trouble him at all in the young man’s presence. 

On the first count, he told himself that the ends justified the means. If recruiting a civilian meant that a gang of sickos could be shut down, then it would be worth it. Pity he didn’t really believe that, but what the heck? He’d live with his uneasy conscience if he had to, and despite appearances, Sandburg was no easy push-over. 

On the second count, Jim didn’t even want to go there. He had no explanation for his condition anyway, so he sure as hell couldn’t explain _that_ particular phenomenon. 

Shaking his head in denial, he climbed into his vehicle, and drove to the PD, concentrating his mind on how best to word the report of his meeting for his Captain.  


\-----------------------  


**Meanwhile, at Bartlett’s apartment, Cascade Waterfront:**  


Stan Bartlett paced angrily up and down, for once in no mood to appreciate the stunning view from his up-market and very expensive waterfront residence. His lawyer had left a few minutes ago, having reiterated that Bartlett had nothing to worry about, but Bartlett wasn’t at all placated. Yesterday’s incident had frightened him badly, and the man now sitting nonchalantly on his plush sofa didn’t reassure him at all. 

“So why didn’t you tell me when the bust was going down? I mean, I know there was nothing for the cops to find. Everything was shifted to the new place as soon as you beat the information out of Dixie. But I was in the middle of a photo shoot with one of the best pieces of prime ass I’ve seen in months. And now he’s probably scared off and gone for good! Our products are only as good as the ‘stars’ we use.” 

The elegantly-suited visitor examined his well-buffed fingernails for a moment before responding, secure in his position as trusted go-between and mouthpiece for one of the most wanted – and most elusive – crime lords in the Pacific North West. The man – known to Bartlett simply as Dade – casually crossed his long legs, carefully adjusting the material of his expensive pants so that the sharp creases hung ‘just so’ before meeting Stan’s angry glare with a calm expression of his own. Pausing pointedly before responding, he gave off an air of competence and faux respectability, but Bartlett knew that only a fool would be taken in by the relaxed façade. Dade was probably one of the most dangerous and unprincipled men he knew, next only to his boss, so he forced himself to listen patiently to what Dade had to say. 

“You really should calm down, dear boy. It serves no purpose getting riled up, you know. Just raises your blood pressure,” Dade began amiably. However, his expression hardened to one of cold calculation when he continued, fixing Stan with eyes suddenly as flat and dangerous as a snake. 

“Dixie told me a great deal before he died, Bartlett, and only just in time to have the evidence removed from your studio to the new location. It suited Stephan to keep you in the dark, because we weren’t sure when our informant within the PD was going to contact us with the time of the raid. Besides, having you picked up unexpectedly actually made the whole effect more convincing as far as the cops were concerned. They may still have their suspicions, and rightly so, but they’ve nothing to go on. Nothing at all. So you’re in the clear, my friend. 

“And besides,” he continued, his air of menace deepening as Stan gulped nervously in response. “Your little operation is only a tiny part of Stephan’s empire, Bartlett, so you’d be as well to remember that. It might produce a reasonable amount of revenue for Stephan, and a good income for you, but we can do without you if necessary. There are plenty of others who would be only too glad to take up Stephan’s backing and bankrolling their little schemes!” 

Bartlett sat down suddenly on the nearest armchair as his legs gave out under him, face blanching at the overt threat even as Dade’s expression changed back to one of amicable assurance. However, his smile was shark-like as he spoke again. 

“So, Stanley. I see we’re on the same page again. Stephan suggests that you keep your head down for a few days before trying to do any more filming at the new studio. Just concentrate on your legitimate activities until the cops lose interest, OK? After the example I made of Dixie, I don’t think there’ll be many snitches brave – or foolish – enough to come forward for a while. So take advantage of the opportunity to look for new talent. You never know, you may even be able to entice your latest piece of ass back to the fold, eh? 

“Now, I’ll be travelling back to Seattle this afternoon after I’ve checked out a few of Stephan’s other assets, so I’ll wish you good day. My report to Stephan will confirm that you’re quite happy with the current situation. Is that correct?” and he raised a quizzical eyebrow at the quaking man before him. 

“Er, yeah! Yeah, sure, Dade. Everything’s cool. Thanks, man. Um, I’ll see you out...” and Bartlett stood somewhat shakily to open the door for the departing man. 

Once Dade had left the building, accompanied by the hired muscle who always travelled with him for protection, Stan closed and bolted his door, and moved clumsily over to the well-stocked wet bar in his lounge. Despite the early hour, he poured himself a stiff drink and downed it in one to calm his rattled nerves. Pouring himself a refill, he took more time over this one as he sat down again, breathing deeply as he stared unseeingly out over the glittering waters of Cascade’s bay. 

God! That had been too close. He should know better than to lose his cool when dealing with Dade, and by inference, his boss, Stephan. 

In truth, he knew that what Dade had said made sense. He realised that the fact that the raid had been unexpected had ensured that his and his employees’ reactions had been of genuine surprise, and all the more convincing for that. But what he also recognised was that his real irritation had been on account of Blair Sandburg. 

Stan was unhappily certain that the young man would want nothing more to do with him and his studio after what had happened. Although normally Stan wouldn’t be too perturbed at that, knowing that there were always plenty more potential ‘models’ only too keen to fall into his clutches, Blair had been special. For once Stan had been immediately attracted to the beautiful grad student, ruefully acknowledging to himself that the desire bordered on obsession, which was something that hadn’t affected Bartlett in many years. He wanted Blair for himself, even as he wanted to groom him for a lucrative second career in porn films. 

Hell, if they were good enough, perhaps they could progress to Indie films, then even to the legitimate film industry! It had been done many times before, even if filmgoers remained ignorant that some of their idols had clawed their way up to stardom via less than conventional or acceptable routes. 

Sighing despondently, Stan accepted that his dreams on this occasion were probably doomed to fail, but he allowed himself a few minutes to contemplate what might have been.  


\----------------------  


**Lunchtime, two days later:**  


Blair sat in a quiet booth at the back of an unobtrusive pub not too far from campus. Nursing a beer, he couldn’t prevent himself from glancing anxiously about him, anticipating the arrival of Jim Ellison and his Captain. As Blair sat, his leg jiggled with nervous tension, and he wondered for the umpteenth time what he had let himself in for. 

True, he understood that the cause was a good one, and he was committed now to playing his part in shutting down Stan’s porn business. But he had to ask himself whether he was suitable for the role. After all, despite his youthful travels, he had never had cause to get involved voluntarily in something as potentially dangerous as this, and he was well aware that at least part of his willingness to cooperate was down to the influence of Jim Ellison as much as his own misplaced bravado. What did he think he was trying to prove here? Ellison was probably laughing his socks off at his success in coaxing Blair into participating in his schemes, and Blair was unhappily contemplating the notion that he was potential collateral damage, of no real concern to the hardened Vice cops who were prepared to use whatever means necessary to shut down operations like this for society’s greater good. 

Trying to deflect his mind from such depressing thoughts, Blair replayed his confrontation with Professor Davies yesterday afternoon, gaining at least partial satisfaction from his performance in convincing the man of his innocence and naivety where Bartlett was concerned.  


\---------------------  


Blair had managed to engineer an apparently chance encounter with the Professor by wandering aimlessly towards the Arts Department at around the time he expected the man to be leaving for lunch. Pretending pleased surprise, Blair had launched straight into his planned spiel, gazing earnestly into the older man’s eyes as he talked. 

“Oh, hey, Professor! How’re you doing? Say, I don’t suppose you’re going to need a model again anytime soon, are you? ‘Cause I have to say I’d be available if you want me!” and he grinned disarmingly up into Davies’ bemused face. 

Without pausing long enough for the other man to get a reply in, he chattered blithely on, smiling shyly and patting Davies’ arm in a friendly fashion. 

“See, I know you did me a big favour directing me to Stan Bartlett’s Goldmine Studio, but I don’t think he’ll want to use me now, more’s the pity. I mean, the poor guy got rousted by the cops when I was modelling for him! Can you believe it? They took us both in, wanting to know about porn movies! Jeez! As if!” he scoffed convincingly. 

“Anyhow, they let me go pretty soon because I had nothing to tell them, and I believe they let Stan go too after a bit. But he probably won’t want to see me again, I guess,” and he let his shoulders droop in feigned despondency. 

“Damn shame, because I was enjoying myself, and he was going to offer good money if I signed up with him,” and he sighed sadly as he tailed off. 

Although initially taken aback at his young friend’s outburst, once Davies gave himself a moment to study Sandburg and consider his words, he relaxed; certain that he was in the clear as far as Blair’s suspicions went. And once more it would seem like he had the chance to benefit from the grad student’s gullibility. 

“I’m so sorry, dear boy!” he replied, injecting every bit of avuncular sincerity he could manage into his tone. “I had heard some rumour about Stan being investigated for alleged but unsubstantiated criminal activity, but I didn’t realise you had been caught up in it also. That’s really too bad! But I’m glad the police at least let you go fairly quickly, even though it must have been really upsetting for you for a while, eh?” and he offered Blair a sympathetic half-smile. 

“Anyway, as far as modelling is concerned, I’m afraid I won’t be needing you for a while, Blair, although I’ll always bear you in mind when the time comes, I assure you. My student group were all very taken with you, I have to say. 

“But I’m sure you’re mistaken about Stan wanting to see you again. I know for a fact that he was most impressed with you even after your first session. He called me right after to thank me for suggesting his studio to you. If I were you, I’d go along to see him again. I’m sure you’ll be pleasantly surprised...” and he allowed himself a satisfied grin at the effect of his words on his youthful listener. 

“Oh man, that’d be great! Look, thanks, Professor! I’m so glad I ran into you today. If what you believe is right, then yeah, I’ll go see Stan again very soon. Thanks again, Prof!” and Blair went on his way with a cheery wave, smile still firmly in place despite the pounding of his heart and his internal disquiet.  


\-----------------------  


Just then the door to the bar was pushed open to reveal Detective Ellison, accompanied by an impressive older, grey-haired man, whose sharp eyes swiftly picked out Blair from where he sat in the dimly-lit booth. Blair gulped a little nervously, assuming that this must be Jim’s Captain Sullivan, and certain that he was about to make a fool of himself in front of the two imposing cops. It was too late to change his mind, however, and since they were blocking the only exit from the bar, Blair took a couple of deep, cleansing breaths and forced a smile as he stood up to greet them. 

As the pair approached, the Captain held out his hand in greeting, saying, “Mr Sandburg. I’m Mike Sullivan as Jim will no doubt already have told you. Thank you for agreeing to meet us here.” 

Returning the man’s firm handshake, Blair grinned a little self-consciously as he replied, “No problem, Cap…er…Mike. Pleased to meet you also,” and he sat down again, moving over to make room for the newcomers and inwardly pleased when Jim moved in to sit beside him, leaving Sullivan to sit opposite, his expression shrewd as he studied Blair intently from across the table. 

When the waitress approached, Jim ordered three beers, assuming that Blair would require a refill. Feeling somewhat uncomfortable, Blair nodded in appreciation, although under normal circumstances one would be his limit for lunchtime. But these circumstances were far from normal, so he granted himself dispensation to indulge in a second beer. And if it provided a bit of Dutch courage, all well and good. 

While waiting for the drinks to arrive, the three of them exchanged pleasantries, but soon got down to business once the waitress had left them alone. 

Speaking quietly but clearly, Sullivan launched straight into his questions, wanting to sound out the young man and see if he agreed with Jim over the student’s suitability for the role he was intended to play. 

“So, Mr Sandburg. I understand that you’ve already done some modelling for Rainier’s Art Department for a small fee, and that’s how you got to meet up with Stan Bartlett, am I right?” 

“Uh, Blair. Call me Blair,” Blair replied, blushing a little at the man’s direct approach. 

“Yeah, that’s right, sir. I needed extra money, and most of the good jobs have already been snatched up by the undergrads by this time of year. I’ve recently returned from an expedition to South America, and taken up a teaching assistant’s post here so I can sign up for the doctoral programme. But it’s really expensive, you see, with tuition fees, books and all, and I missed out on a couple of grants this time around. Had to fork out the advance for my new accommodation too...” and here he paused in confusion when Jim snorted out loud in wry amusement. 

At the younger man’s inquisitive glance, he explained apologetically, saying, “Sorry, Chief, but I’ve seen your ‘accommodation’, and I’ve got to say you’re being robbed, whatever you’re paying! It’s horrible!” Then his face lost its grin as he continued, “Seriously, Sandburg, it’s too dangerous for you to stay there. That warehouse just has to be a fire hazard, and the area’s one of the worst in the docks. You’re just asking to get mugged, Chief!” 

However, before Blair could respond in indignant defence of his home, Sullivan butted in. 

“Look, guys, be that as it may, it has no bearing on what we’re supposed to be discussing, so can we stick to the point? I for one have other cases to be working on, as do you, Ellison!” and he shot Jim a repressive look. 

“Yeah, sorry, sir,” replied Jim, although he fully intended continuing the discussion about Blair’s choice of residence later on when time wasn’t of the essence. 

_And wasn’t it strange that he should be thinking in terms of continuing his relationship with Sandburg? And getting concerned about the kid’s living conditions also...?_

Quickly shaking off such disturbing thoughts, he got down to the matter in hand. 

“Sorry, Mr Sandburg - Blair. You were telling Mike about how you met Bartlett...” 

“Um yeah. Right. Facts again, huh? Well, an artist friend of mine told me about Professor Davies needing a model to pose for his art class, so I volunteered. We got on OK, and the money was useful. And when the course was done, Davies said he had a friend – an ex-student – who was always looking for fresh talent to sign up at his agency. 

“Long story short, I went along to The Goldmine, like I already told Jim – er – Detective Ellison, and he liked me. It was during my second session when you guys barged in, and I gotta say I haven’t been that scared in a long time!” and he chuckled self-deprecatingly. 

“Anyway, after Jim let me go, I didn’t think any more about it, you know? But when he approached me about doing a bit of snooping for you, I agreed, providing that I could get back in favour with Stan and Professor Davies. 

“And I think I’ve done it with Davies, at least,” and he proceeded to describe how his contrived meeting with the Professor had gone. 

By the time he had finished, Jim had a satisfied grin on his face. “Good work, Blair. I think you’re right, and it sounds like Davies believes you. Now all you have to do is sound Bartlett out also, and I think you should do that as soon as possible while you’re still fresh in his memory, don’t you agree, Mike?” and he fixed his boss with an appealing gaze, willing the man to back him up. 

Sullivan looked appraisingly from one to the other before addressing both men. 

“OK. I’ll give you my backing, but only if I’m convinced that Bartlett still wants Blair and trusts him enough to groom him as a potential ‘star’. Not that I want it to go that far, you understand. If Blair can’t get close enough to get us some solid information before getting sucked in too deeply, then it’s not going to happen. I can’t risk a civilian getting hurt on our watch. The politicians and legal types will tear us to shreds if this goes belly-up. And I don’t even want to consider what the media would make of it. 

“So don’t let me down, gentlemen. I trust you to organise suitable backup for Mr Sandburg at all times while he’s at The Goldmine, Ellison. And you _do not_ , under any circumstances, go off on your own without telling us!” and he fixed Blair with a stern gaze. 

“No sir, absolutely not!” the young man agreed hastily. “I don’t do danger, as I suspect Jim will have already told you. I’m happy to help, but I’m so not into pain!” and he snickered uncomfortably at his own words. 

After another searching look, Sullivan drained the last of his beer and nodded briskly at his companions. 

“Right. I’ve got work to do, so I’ll see you back at the office, Jim. Good to meet you, Blair,” and he offered his hand again before standing up to leave the other two together, watching his exit and wrapped up in their individual thoughts. 

Blair was the first to break the silence as he turned back to face Jim. 

“So Jim, it looks like a go then?” and he couldn’t prevent the nervous catch in his voice as he spoke. “I mean, your boss didn’t look at me as if I was a complete nerd, so I’m supposing he was satisfied I could do the job...?” 

Jim couldn’t entirely contain his look of fond exasperation as he returned Blair’s gaze, saying, “You fishing for compliments, Chief? Seriously, Sandburg, if he’d have been completely against the plan, you’d have known it immediately. Sullivan doesn’t tolerate fools, and he wants this case wrapped up as much as any of us in the department. 

“Except for one, maybe...” and his voice tailed off into aggrieved silence as a deep frown creased his brow. 

“What do you mean, Jim? Who could possibly want a porn studio to thrive? Unless you have a leak in the PD,” he conjectured softly, frowning in his turn at the disturbing notion. 

Despite his morbid speculation, he was still shocked when he saw an expression close to pain flash across Jim’s face at his words, and he was more shaken than he cared to admit at the detective’s response. 

“You’re right, Chief,” Jim said, voice reflecting his own resignation and disgust. 

“That’s exactly what we believe. It’s the main reason why Sullivan wanted to meet you on neutral ground. Not just because he was worried that you might be seen entering the PD under your own volition, but because we need to keep this operation airtight. There are only five people that really know what’s going on, and we need to keep it that way. There’s Mancini and Fellowes from the original task force, and I trust them completely. It was Mancini’s informant who got us all the info before, and now he’s disappeared. Mancini is _not_ amused!” he muttered with a wry grimace. 

“Then there’s the Captain, me and you, Chief. No-one else will be told unless they’re needed for backup, and then only what’s necessary. ‘Need to know’ and all that. So, are you still with me?” and he fixed Blair with an honest and direct look. 

Blair paused for a while as he evaluated his thoughts and emotions, then he met Jim’s gaze with a resolute one of his own. 

“Yeah, Detective Ellison. I’m still game, even if I’m shit scared. So, how about I approach Stan this evening? I have an afternoon tutorial, then I’m free. Would that be good for you?” 

And he was nearly bowled over at the unaffectedly bright and relieved smile that his words earned him. _Gods! The man’s even more gorgeous than I thought! He should really smile more often...!_ And then Blair was forced to clamp down quickly on his automatic physical responses before they could give him away, unaware that his companion already knew, and was covertly thoroughly enjoying the situation. 

However, before Jim could fully appreciate what his senses were telling him, suddenly he flinched in agony as his hearing spiked unexpectedly, and suddenly every scent in the place became almost toxic to his now oversensitive nose. For an endless moment he thought he’d actually pass out from the pain when he slowly became aware of a soothing voice murmuring softly in his ear, pushing through the cacophony of sound while a gentle hand stroked his knee beneath the table. 

“Hey, man, you OK? What is it, Jim? What can I do to help?” 

As Jim’s sense of smell desperately sought to pinpoint the uniquely calming scent emanating from his companion, he gradually forced his unruly senses under some sort of control, although the effort left him panting and sweating profusely. 

Finally able to raise his pounding head without feeling that it was about to explode or fall off his shoulders, he looked reluctantly over at Blair, who was staring at him, huge blue eyes wide in genuine concern, hand still rubbing his knee. Abruptly embarrassed, Jim reacted in character, going on the attack before he could lay himself open to the other man. 

“It’s nothing, Sandburg,” he snapped irritably. “Just tired is all. I’ve had a heavy caseload recently, not just this one, and the strain’s catching up with me. You can get your hand off my knee now...” and he punctuated his words with a threatening glance. 

Gulping in surprise and hurt, Blair snatched his hand away as if burned. 

“Uh, sure, Detective,” he stammered. “Only meant to help, you know?” Then his own anger at the unfair dismissal came to the fore as he glowered at Jim, growling, “OK, man. Message received and understood. No fraternising with the help, eh, detective? Got it. But are we still on for tonight? Because despite your sucky attitude, I’m still prepared to go ahead if you are!” and he glared stubbornly at the other man, half afraid now that Jim would tell him to take a hike, and knowing that it was the last thing he wanted to do. 

It was Jim who backed down this time, albeit with ill grace, since he was well aware that he had been unforgivably ungrateful and rude, succumbing once again to his customary dread of revealing any hint of weakness to another. 

“Yeah, we’re still on. Sorry Chief,” he continued gruffly. “I realise that was uncalled for. Just have the headache from Hell, OK?” and he sent Blair an apologetic glance from beneath lowered lids. 

Instantly placated, Blair grinned cheerfully and said, “No problem, man. Apology accepted. Now, you sure you’re OK, because I really need to get back to the U?” 

And Jim could do nothing but offer him a rueful grin as he beckoned over the waitress to pay for the beers.  


\-------------------  


As he watched the energetic grad student bounce away towards the campus, Jim realised once again that his senses had reacted positively to the little guy, and once again the thought left him unsettled. But now wasn’t the time to waste his energy trying to solve the puzzle. He had a case to crack.  


\-----------------------  


**Later that evening, The Goldmine Studio:**  


Stan regarded the small figure standing before him, inwardly chortling with glee that his prayers had been answered, and the current object of his deepest desires was back in his life. He had been completely taken by surprise when Blair had peeked shyly around his office door, blushing fetchingly as he chewed his full lower lip, plainly psyching himself up to address Stan. 

“Blair, baby! How good to see you again! I thought those dreadful Vice cops had scared you away for good. What can I do for you?” and he held his breath, hoping that his latest obsession was about to fall into his grasp once again. 

“Um, well, man, it’s a bit awkward, Stan. I mean, yeah, the cops did rattle me some, but it was more than that. I guess I thought you wouldn’t want to have anything to do with me after the arrest, even though I swear it was nothing to do with me, man. I haven’t done anything wrong as far as I know!” and he fixed Stan with a pleading gaze, turning up the puppy dog eyes to their full effect. 

And he wasn’t disappointed as Stan melted instantly. 

“Of course I know that, baby! You were an innocent bystander, just as I am innocent! But for my part, I thought _you_ wouldn’t want anything to do with _me!_

“Anyway, do you want to continue to model for me, because I have to say I’m still of the same mind, my dear. You truly are one of the most talented models I’ve come across for a very long time. And my old Professor is taken with you too...” he added, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. 

“He’ll be very pleased that you’ve come back to my studio because he too can recognise true beauty when he sees it. Now, would you like to carry on where we left off the other day? Because I have a client in mind who would love to have more shots of you in that fetching get-up....” and he led an unresisting Blair away to the changing rooms, chattering happily all the way.  


\------------------  


At a safe distance from the studio, Jim sat in his truck, a directional mic pointing towards where Sandburg was pulling out an Oscar-winning performance in convincing Bartlett to re-engage him as a client model. He wished he could trust his own ears instead of the electronic equipment, but although certain he had more than the required range, he couldn’t rely on his capability under duress, so it was safer not to risk it. But he sure wished he could, because what use were his so-called gifts if he couldn’t control them? And then tonight he had been unable to eat his dinner because it tasted like someone had emptied a whole pot of chilli powder into it, and he had nearly choked. So yeah, now he had a full house, and his dejection was almost overwhelming. 

Stubbornly commanding himself to get a grip, he concentrated instead on Blair, needing to know that the young man was safe; his only goal now to crack this case before he either went insane or killed himself in desperation.  


\------------------------  


Two hours later, a relieved Jim watched a still-bouncing Blair wave cheerfully at Bartlett as he left the studio before driving away in his old Corvair. The photo shoot had progressed well, and Jim had had no reason to intervene this time, although his skin crawled at the less-than-subtle advances and innuendoes Bartlett directed at his young model. Nevertheless, Blair had proved adept at deflecting the worst barbs, while still obviously managing to charm the lecherous photographer enough to maintain the other man’s interest, so it would seem that the first stage of the operation was a success. 

Turning his jeep around, Jim followed Blair at a distance, having arranged to meet the younger man back at Blair’s warehouse for a short debrief. As he drove, he reported in to Captain Sullivan, informing him that Blair was safely on his way home, and that Jim would update him fully in the morning. Receiving his boss’ OK, he concentrated on his driving, reluctant to predict how the upcoming meeting with Blair would proceed. 

_Keep it simple, Ellison, and keep your mind on the job. No need to look beyond Sandburg’s usefulness to the operation. No need at all!_

But even as he admonished himself, his inner demon was rubbing its hands in glee, happily anticipating Jim’s discomfort when he was back in close proximity with a man who was rapidly becoming more to him than just a pretty face.  


\-------------------------  


When Blair opened the door to admit Jim a short while later, he was still pumped with the adrenalin rush that had kept him going throughout the evening. His eyes sparkled with enthusiasm, and his skin seemed to glow as he bounced excitedly on the balls of his feet. Jim couldn’t help but notice that he was still wearing some of the cosmetics he had applied for the photo shoot, and the overall effect was stunning. 

And Jim had to exercise every bit of his considerable restraint not to pull the smaller man to him and ravish that sinful mouth there and then. 

Fists clenched so tightly that he was sure he was leaving fingernail-shaped cuts in his palms; Jim sought to distract himself by scanning the warehouse interior as he stepped inside. Sure enough, it was every bit as bad as he had expected, and provided the ideal opportunity for him to round on the eager student, whose happy expression changed abruptly to one of concern at the anger reflected in the big man’s eyes. 

“Shit, Sandburg! Do you call this ‘home?’ I’ve seen better slums than this! Do I have to call in the Health and Safety inspectors before you’ll listen to me and get yourself somewhere less toxic to live?” 

For a few seconds, Blair’s face reflected pure misery at the cruel words, shrinking into himself in hurt, but then he pulled himself together and stepped right into Jim’s personal space, the remnants of his earlier command performance enough to bolster his failing courage. 

“How dare you! How _dare_ you come in here and criticise me and my home like that? I do my best for you guys and all you can do is slag me off! Just who do you think you are, Ellison? Now get out of my home, since you obviously don’t want to be here. And you can forget about my cooperation, man. Your attitude stinks, and I’ve had enough. Find some other patsy to do your dirty work!” 

As he spoke, his face grew redder and his voice louder as his hurt and anger burgeoned, and he punctuated his words with a stiff forefinger poking at Jim’s sternum in increasingly hard jabs. 

Abruptly, Jim had had enough. No matter that he was in the wrong, and had been unforgivably offensive again. No-one, especially some long-haired hippy punk, pushed him like that. Why, he could break the little creep like a stick with one hand tied behind his back! With a furious growl from deep in his chest, he grabbed Blair around the upper arms in a grip of steel, and shook him like a rag doll before lifting him off his feet so that they were nose-to-nose. He was viciously gratified to see abject terror replace the indignant anger on the kid’s face, and he could hear the thundering heartbeats as Sandburg shook with fear now rather than fury. The cold and deliberate menace in his voice was more terrifying to the grad student than any yelling match could have been when he ground out his response. 

“Now you listen to me, you little punk! Don’t you ever threaten me again, kid, unless you want to see just how much damage I can do. You _will_ do as I say, and you _will_ carry on with the sting as agreed or you’ll find yourself in hot water for obstructing an ongoing enquiry. And don’t think I won’t do it, Junior, because you’d be safer even in lock-up than you are in here!” and he shook Blair again to emphasise his point. 

Suddenly he was aware of a subtle change in Blair’s expression. Although still fearful, the beautiful eyes now reflected a very different emotion as his pupils dilated in unwilling arousal, and his enticing scent became even more enhanced to Jim’s sensitive nose. 

With a cruelly calculating sneer spreading across his face, Jim stared at his prey for a moment longer, cataloguing Sandburg’s reactions before murmuring speculatively, “Well, well! Looks like the little professor is turned on by a bit of rough, eh? I guess that’s a good thing from my point of view. Perhaps it won’t be so hard to act the part when Bartlett gets you onto his movie set, huh, kid?” 

His vicious amusement died instantly when Blair suddenly went limp in his hands, eyes now filling with tears of mortification as his face turned aside, trying to hide from Jim’s ruthless inspection. Now feeling like the prize heel that he undoubtedly was, Jim gently set the smaller man back on his feet, hating himself for his cruelty, and knowing that it was completely unjustified. If anyone else had acted that way, he would have retaliated immediately in defence of the victim, and it cut him to the quick that he should be capable of such harm. 

Letting his arms drop to his sides, he could do nothing but swallow hard as Blair turned his back to his tormenter, desperately trying to control the sobs that threatened to burst from his throat and willing his tears not to fall to complete his utter degradation. 

“Look, kid, I’m sorry...” he muttered, but was cut off by a backward wave of Blair’s hand as the smaller man crept over to his ratty sofa, putting as much distance as he could between them. 

Sinking down, Blair dropped his face into his hands, trying vainly to pull himself together. The adrenalin high that had kept him going had completely drained away, leaving him feeling shaky and over-emotional. He chastised himself roundly for folding so pathetically in front of Jim, but was incapable of doing anything about it right now, so deep was his despair and humiliation. Wishing the ground would open up and swallow him he fought not to cry out loud in shame and pain. Just how stupid was he? He’d let himself be used – and abused – again, and then had even been turned on by Jim’s manhandling of him. Goddess! Was he discovering some kind of hidden kink? What was _wrong_ with him? For someone who had always prided himself in avoiding confrontation when possible in favour of finding a peaceful solution, he had got up into Jim’s face and then actually felt aroused when the big man had retaliated. His confusion and distress was so great, that he didn’t even notice when Jim approached to halt before him, or that he now stood there, still and silent as a statue.  


\-----------------------  


While Blair was suffering his meltdown, Jim had been undergoing an identity crisis of his own, and he didn’t like the conclusions he had reached. Despite his reputation both in the Vice unit and on the street as a hard-assed loner, he had never to his knowledge deliberately set out to wound a man he recognised both as a genuinely good person, and a potential friend. Sure, he intimidated the hell out of criminal low-lifes, and had no problems with getting physical when required, but this was different. What he had done had been unforgivably hurtful to someone who hadn’t deserved it, and he was more ashamed of himself than he had been in a very long time. 

But how to put it right? Did Blair even want him to try? He shook his head; features grim from the depth of his remorse and self-loathing, and determined to make the attempt even if it was rebuffed. The honourable man within him could do no less. 

Carefully approaching the hunched figure, Jim allowed his senses to lock onto the smaller man, ruefully noting the trembling frame, the barely-contained sobs and smelling the saline of Blair’s tears which had begun to leak from eyes still covered by Blair’s palms, the rest of the distraught features obscured by a curtain of curly hair. His nose picked up what he could only categorise as distress emanating from the shivering form, and he longed to reach out and pull Blair into his arms, wanting only to comfort now where before he had intended to hurt. Desperately reaching out even further with his senses in an attempt to wrap himself at least mentally and emotionally around his victim, he suddenly found his vision tunnelling and zoned hard.  


\---------------------  


It was several minutes before Blair had pulled himself together enough to risk peeking up to see if Jim was still present, and he was shocked to see the big detective standing not two feet away from him, totally rigid and unblinking. Abruptly focussing on the other man, he quickly wiped his eyes and nose on his sleeve, sniffing hard before stumbling to his feet, unhappily certain that he knew what was wrong with his visitor. 

“Oh, man. Come on, Jim, don’t do this! This is so not fair, Big Guy! I can’t deal with your shit as well as my own. Come on, Detective! Please wake up!” 

However, there was no response to his plea, and with a sinking heart he knew that he would have to do a lot more if he was going to coax Jim into leaving la-la land. But he knew he had to at least try. His conscience wouldn’t allow him to turn away, even if he was sorely tempted just to ring 911 and get the men in white coats, or whoever, to come and remove his now unwanted guest. 

Swallowing hard, he moved right up to Jim, and cupped his hand around the cool jaw while the other began to rub gently up and down Jim’s upper arm. Unconsciously lowering his voice to a seductive purr, he began to call Jim back, murmuring nonsense in a continuing litany while breathing into the lax face. 

“Come on, man. I know you can hear me. You can smell me also, and feel my touch. Look, now you can taste me...” and he licked his finger before pushing it between Jim’s lips, spreading his saliva over the silky surface. 

“All you need to do now is look at me, and you’ll have the whole deal, man. Come on, I know you can do it!” 

Suddenly, Blair saw Jim’s eyes blink once, then again, and the hard body shuddered beneath his hands. Immediately jumping away in nervous self-defence, Blair stood at a safe distance, arms wrapped protectively around his torso as Jim came back to himself, shaking himself like a large dog as he stared around him, face reflecting his confusion. 

When his perplexed gaze fell on Blair, he growled, “What the fuck? What happened?” and he frowned in consternation when the young man took another couple of steps back, increasing the distance between them. 

“Um, you zoned, man. At least, I think that’s what it was. And I had to bring you out of it,” Blair replied softly, hunching his shoulders in jittery anticipation of Jim’s likely response while his eyes flicked towards the door and escape. 

However, when the expected explosion of rage and denial failed to occur, Blair peeked nervously up again to see Jim still standing in the same spot, but regarding Blair with a puzzled, but not aggressive expression. 

Hoping he wasn’t making another huge mistake, Blair straightened up to meet Jim’s questioning gaze. Although still wide-eyed and plainly anxious, he continued his explanation. 

“Um, if you really want to hear it, Detective, I think I know what’s been going on with you. I mean, I didn’t know for sure...” and he paused, needing to check Jim’s reactions before going on. When Jim simply nodded, he said, “Um, OK, well, I think you may want to sit down for this, Detective. I mean, it might take a while, and you may as well get comfortable,” and he indicated the sofa, his eyes pleading with Jim not to get mad at him again. 

Sighing deeply, Jim shook his head as he replied. “It’s OK, Sandburg. I promise I won’t go off the deep end again. I was totally out of order, and I’m really sorry, Chief. I had no right to hurt you like that, and even if I don’t like what you’re about to tell me, I won’t do that again. I don’t blame you if you tell me to get lost, but I’d like for you to trust me in this,” and he tried to put as much sincerity as he could into his expression as he waited for Blair’s response. 

Blair took a moment to consider, then nodded briskly. “OK, Jim. I believe you. Why don’t you sit down, and I’ll tell you what I think?” 

When Jim complied, settling himself into the sagging cushions, Blair sank down in a graceful lotus position on the floor opposite him, plainly working on restoring his inner equilibrium. 

Fixing Jim with an appraising look, he began. 

“OK, man. I’ll try to make this as succinct as I can, but there’s a lot of information here, so please bear with me if I seem to be going on some, OK?” 

At Jim’s nod of agreement, he took a deep breath and continued. 

“I hope I’m not out of order here, Detective, but when we were in the pub the other day you seemed to have problems with your hearing, didn’t you? And your sense of smell also?” When Jim nodded again, although this time more unhappily, he said, “How about your sense of touch, man? I mean, you’ve been scratching quite a bit, and I thought I saw a rash on your wrist under your shirt cuff? And unless I’m mistaken, your sense of taste has started to bother you also.” 

Jim knew he couldn’t deny anything Blair had said so far, but he didn’t know how the hell Sandburg could have found out this stuff. But he had promised faithfully not to get mad, so he forced himself to stay calm and listen. 

“Yeah, OK. You’re on the nail so far, so you may as well know that all five senses seem to be enhanced now. So if you know so much about it, what just happened, and how do I stop it?” 

“Um, well, this is where it sort of gets ‘out there’, if you know what I mean. Do you want me to go on?” And Jim had no option but to agree. After all, if this hyperactive wunderkind really did know what was wrong with him, then perhaps he could be persuaded to help Jim get back to normal again. 

Apparently satisfied with Jim’s acceptance so far, Blair recommenced his story. 

“OK, man. I need to tell you about the subject of my Master’s thesis, so please be patient. See, years ago I read a monograph by Sir Richard Burton – the Victorian explorer, not the actor – and he wrote about what he called ‘Sentinels’. He came across them while he was studying pre-civilised tribes in South America. These guys had anything up to all five senses enhanced, and they were really important to their tribes, you know? I mean, they were highly prized as scouts, watchmen, guardians and so much more. And it was completely natural, man. Simply a normal genetic variation. Nothing freakish about it, I promise you. I was completely fascinated, man, so I wrote about Sentinels in indigenous tribes as my thesis topic, using recorded material and my own research. I really wanted to do my dissertation on them also, exploring how a Sentinel might use his or her talents to benefit modern society. But I eventually decided that they had died out. No longer necessary in modern Western culture. I really tried to find one, but only came up with individuals with one or maybe two senses enhanced, like wine tasters and perfumers, so I gave up. Which is why I’ve been looking for another diss topic, see? Even my diss committee thought I was being naive, and told me to write about something else,” and he fixed Jim with an appealing look, asking for his understanding. 

“Shit, Chief. When you said ‘out there’, you really meant it didn’t you?” said Jim tiredly. “If I hadn’t already promised to behave, I think I might have thrown you against the wall again for that ‘pre-civilised caveman’ reference, but a promise is a promise. 

“OK, so what if you’re right and I am one of these ‘Sentinels’? How do I turn it off, Chief, because I really don’t want to deal with this shit? You said it yourself. The variation died out for a reason, and that reason is that it’s no longer needed!” 

“Oh Jim! I don’t think you _can_ turn them off now you’re fully ‘on-line’, so to speak. But why would you _want_ to? You’re a cop, and a good one, so there’s your reason! You could be an organic walking crime lab! Just think about how effective you would be at a recent crime scene? All you need to do is learn to control your senses, so you don’t do the ‘zone-out’ thing again like you did just now.” 

“That’s all well and good for you to say, Chief. But _how_ do I control them? Who’s going to help me with that? You?” And he suddenly found himself hoping that Sandburg was going to answer in the affirmative. 

He wasn’t wrong, but he was deeply sorry to hear the kid’s anxious and self-deprecating response. 

Lowering his gaze to stare at the floor in front of his crossed ankles, Blair chewed his lower lip for a second before answering. Eventually, he braced himself and raised shy eyes to meet Jim’s questioning look. 

“Um, well, you see, Jim, here’s the thing. As far as I can tell from my research, each Sentinel had a companion – a Guide, if you will – who watched their back. Someone who could help ground them when they used their senses so they didn’t go too deep and get lost in them, like you did just now. Burton called it ‘zoning out’....” And he held his breath again, waiting for the expected eruption of Mt Ellison. 

He was completely taken aback, however, when Jim simply stood up and walked up to him, to take his hands and gently pull him to his feet. 

“So you think you’re my Guide, eh, kiddo?” he breathed, tipping Blair’s worried face up to meet his gaze with a finger under the student’s chin. 

“Well, it could be worse, as far as I’m concerned, but I can understand if you’re not happy with the idea, Chief. After all, all I’ve done so far is arrest you, coerce you into taking part in a potentially dangerous sting operation, and frighten the life out of you. What more could you desire in a ‘Sentinel’, eh? 

“But for what it’s worth, Blair, I really am sorry about my behaviour so far, and I do appreciate your honesty and integrity in sharing your information with me. 

“I’m going to leave now, and think carefully about what you’ve told me, and hopefully give you a chance to think things through for yourself. I’ll call you tomorrow, OK, and maybe we can talk again?” 

And he was rewarded with a rather timorous smile, but definite nod of acceptance from Blair as he turned away and let himself out of the warehouse.  


\----------------------  


**Part 2: The Sting:**  


**Following day, Blair’s office, Hargrove Hall:**  


Blair stared unseeingly at the open blue book he was currently attempting to mark, only to jerk back to the present as his telephone shrilled, causing him to drop his red pen and almost tip his chair over backwards in nervous reaction. Heart thundering, he cursed himself for his jumpiness as he reached for the handset with a slightly shaky hand. 

However, even before he could answer, his caller started in immediately, and Blair struggled to get his tumbling thoughts into some sort of order as he listened. 

“Hey, Chief, Ellison here. Um, I was just wondering how you were? Did you get any sleep after I left? Because I have to tell you, you certainly gave me plenty to think about, kiddo. 

“Look, I know you’ve probably got plenty to do at the U, but is there any chance we could meet for lunch today? I really need to talk with you...” 

“Ah, yeah, man. Uh, good to hear from you, Jim. I guess we could meet up. Where would you suggest, because I don’t think it would be a good idea for you to come here. We can’t risk being seen together on campus, man. Too many people know me...” and he could have bitten his tongue for stating the obvious like that. Sometimes he simply couldn’t prevent his mouth opening before his brain kicked in, and the knowledge was galling. 

However, Ellison merely chuckled at his words as he replied. “Wonder why on earth that should be, huh, Chief? I mean to say, a shy and retiring guy like you! Seriously, kiddo, you’re right. Until this operation’s over, you need to keep away from prying eyes and go about your business as usual. 

“But that pub we went to before seems OK. Not really geared up for students, and just far enough off campus to deter casual drop-ins. How about meeting me there at 12.30? Lunch is on me...” he added enticingly. 

“Well, if you’re sure, Jim, I can do that. I’ve got a student coming for a tutorial at 11.00, but I should be finished in time to meet you. I have to get back by 2.00 pm, though man, because I have office hours...” 

“No problem, Chief. See you at 12.30!” and Jim rang off, leaving a bemused Blair staring at the handset clutched in his fist. Putting the instrument carefully back in its cradle, he swallowed hard, wondering just what he was going to get himself into next. 

Picking his red pen up off the floor, he pulled the blue book to him again, this time determined to finish his marking and grading before indulging in any more wool-gathering despite the butterflies that had suddenly begun fluttering around in his tummy at the thought of meeting Jim again.  


\--------------------  


Back at his desk in the PD, Jim put the phone down and breathed a sigh of relief. He had been worried that Blair would turn him down flat other than doing what had to be done to keep the operation going. Thank the gods that the kid was way more forgiving than anyone else he knew, because after his performance the previous evening, he wouldn’t have been a bit surprised if Blair didn’t head for the hills – or at least tell him to fuck off. 

But apparently Blair was prepared to meet him half-way despite his reservations, so Jim determined that he would discipline himself to behave, and not give the younger man any more reason to fear him. Blair was, after all, the best prospect Jim had at both understanding and controlling his senses – a conclusion he had reached after carefully considering the proof under his very nose. 

Not only was Sandburg probably the only available expert in Sentinel studies, but he had also had the knowledge – and ability – to pull Jim out of that ‘zone’. Because Jim had to admit, that was probably one of the most frightening experiences he had ever undergone, fire-fights and military operations notwithstanding. To fade out like that, losing time and completely unaware of his surroundings had scared him badly, enough to make him reconsider trying to work alone. 

Shit, he could be taken out with ease if it happened during a bust, or even on the street in some unforeseen but not improbable set of random circumstances. And worse still, if he faded out when he was supposed to be backing up his colleagues, someone might get killed while he was off away with the fairies, and he would never forgive himself for that. 

But how was going to convince his Captain that he needed Sandburg by his side? And more importantly, how to convince Sandburg that he belonged with Jim?   


\-------------------  


**Lunchtime, same day:**  


At 12.30 precisely, Jim entered the bar at The Trapper’s Arms, quickly checking out the place, and noting with satisfaction that it was as quiet as at his previous visit. Heading over to the same booth he, Sandburg and Sullivan had occupied before, he settled down to wait for his lunch guest, trying very hard to quell any fears that Blair might change his mind and fail to show up. He was pretty certain Blair wouldn’t blow him off, at least without letting him know, but he was relieved nevertheless when he looked up to see Sandburg peering around the door, plainly seeking him out. 

Waving the smaller man over, Jim smiled in welcome, indicating that the grad student take a seat. 

“Good to see you, Chief,” he said, waving the waitress over. “What do you want to drink? Beer OK?” 

Blushing slightly, much to his chagrin, Blair replied, “Sure man. Sounds good,” and he slid into the booth while Jim ordered the drinks, asking for a couple of menus before sitting down again opposite him. 

“Um, well, how’re you doing Jim?” he began, trying very hard not to either twist his hands together or tap his fingers in nervous energy. Aware that his voice had betrayed his anxiety, he told himself sternly to get a grip, and looked up to meet Jim’s faintly amused but friendly grin, visibly straightening his spine as he continued. Keeping his voice low in deference to the subject matter, he said, “Have you been OK today, man? No problems with the senses?” 

When Jim shook his head, he sat back a little, expression lightening as the other man replied. 

“Nope, everything’s been fine so far, Chief. I mean, I haven’t tried to use the senses for anything in particular this morning, but I have to say that after I left you last night, I felt better than I have in ages – physically, that is. Which is why I’m pretty sure it’s your presence that helps me. I seem to be able to lock on to you somehow, and the effects stay with me for a while after, although how long for, it’s too early to tell.” 

Blair’s face reflected his mixed emotions as he pondered Jim’s response. On the one hand, his inner anthropologist was jumping up and down with glee that he seemed at last to have found his Holy Grail – a fully-functional, modern-day Sentinel. But he was also afraid of the implications that he might just be Jim’s Guide – something that both excited and terrified him. If it turned out to be the case – and only by working together would they be able to confirm it – did he really want to be tied to Jim for the foreseeable future? Because all his research had pointed to that truth. Sentinels and Guides, once matched, stayed together. 

However, before he could formulate his response, the waitress returned with their beers and the menus. Not wanting to waste any time, Blair opted quickly for the soup and salad, and Jim ordered the burger with everything. When the waitress retired with their order, Blair smirked a little as he said, “Do you realise how bad that sort of stuff is for you, Jim? All that animal fat clogging your arteries?” 

“And what’s wrong with that, Chief?” replied Jim, entering into the spirit of the light-hearted banter. “If you must know, my favourite eatery of choice is Wonderburger--” 

And he grinned in genuine amusement when Blair took the bait, retorting, “Jeez, man! Why don’t you inject the grease straight into your veins?” 

“Now where would be the fun in that, Chief?” and both men shared a moment of uncomplicated laughter before Blair’s face became serious again. 

“Um, look, Jim,” he began diffidently. “I’ve been thinking. About the Sentinel and Guide thing. If I can help you get some sort of control – and I’ve got a few ideas we can try – you’ll need to find a partner who you can work with at the PD. Because now you’re ‘online’, so to speak, it won’t be safe to work alone any more. Not if you really want to use your gifts on the street. Is there someone you can trust who can watch your back?” And he was amazed to find that a tiny part of him railed against the idea of anyone else working with Jim. And just where did that come from? _Are you jealous, Sandburg? Get over yourself!_ And he swiftly clamped down on the fleeting thought. 

Sitting back in his seat, Jim contemplated his companion silently for long moments, his brow creased in thought. 

“OK, Chief. I get what you’re saying. It seems that I’m going to have to stop working alone even if it goes against my nature. But I don’t want to find someone from the PD. If I’ve got this right, I’m pretty certain that I’ve already found my Guide. And it’s you, Chief. And I’m truly sorry about that – for your sake, that is,” he added hurriedly when a flash of hurt crossed Blair’s beautiful face. “I mean, I don’t know how we can find a practical way of working together even if you were OK with the idea. Because I wouldn’t blame you if you never wanted to see me again after this sting is over. God knows you’ve hardly had a favourable introduction to policework, and you certainly haven’t seen anything in my behaviour towards you to encourage you to stay. 

“Look, I don’t want to put you under any more pressure, Chief. This has got to be as hard for you as it is for me. Harder, I dare say, because you’ve got a lot going for you, Blair. You’re a gifted academic with a full life of study and discovery in front of you. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to try to find a mutually acceptable solution; some way to use these senses properly now I’ve got them. Otherwise, what would be the point?” and he fixed Blair with his most earnest look. 

Blair gulped audibly as he met Jim’s frank gaze for a moment, only to drop his eyes to stare at his clasped hands, which rested on the table in front of him. Seeing the younger man’s deeply troubled expression, Jim immediately felt guilty for causing the kid yet more grief. _Life sure chooses some weird ways to fuck everything up_ he thought, bitterly frustrated with the bizarre dilemma. It was some proposition to dump on the kid out of the blue, and Jim cringed inwardly at the unfairness of it all. And it wasn’t as if he was happy with the situation either. It was galling to recognise that he needed someone to back him up after getting on for thirty years’ of stubborn independence, and the kicker was that it turned out to some neo-hippy boy genius, who was about as opposite in nature and appearance to Jim as it was possible to get. 

And damn, but Jim wanted him anyway. 

Staring at Blair’s bent head in concern, Jim noticed the waitress approaching with their meals, so he continued gently, “Hey, Chief. Food’s on its way, so how about we shelve the topic for now, eh? Plenty of time to continue the discussion later, OK?” and he was gratified when Blair raised his head to meet his gaze, eyes plainly telegraphing his relief and gratitude for the brief respite. 

“Yeah, OK, man. And thanks for this,” he said, indicating the food, which did indeed look very good. 

“No problem, Sandburg. Tuck in!” and Jim offered a reassuring grin before taking a large bite of his burger.  


\----------------------  


A short while later, both men were preparing to leave, having finished their meals in a much more relaxed atmosphere. By common consent they avoided further discussion of the Sentinel/Guide question, and stayed with neutral topics such as the likelihood of the Jags reaching the play-offs this season. 

After Jim had settled the check, they left the pub together, and stood for a moment on the sidewalk before taking leave of each other and going their separate ways. However, before he returned to Rainier, Blair had an idea that he needed to run by Jim, so he stiffened his resolve and spoke up. 

“Look, Jim, I know I can’t give you an answer right now. I need time to think things through, and I think we both need a lot more evidence before we make any decisions either way. We’re talking potential major life-changes after all. But there’s something I’d like you to try out if you get any problems with your senses. I was thinking that perhaps you could imagine something like a dial - like on an old radio or something – one for each sense. You could practice turning them up and down until you find comfortable levels, and then practice holding them there...” At Jim’s dubious frown, he hurried on, embarrassed by the other man’s scrutiny, and angry at himself for his own over-sensitive reaction to the expected mockery. “OK, OK, it sounds stupid, man! I get it! You don’t have to say anything, man. Let’s just leave it, and I’ll get back to the U. Thanks for the lunch...” and he spun around, intending to make his escape. 

However, he was stopped in his tracks when Jim’s hand grasped his shoulder, turning him back round gently but firmly to face the older man, whose expression now was one of simple concern. Placing a hand on each of Blair’s shoulders, he asked quietly, “Now where did that come from, Chief? I know I’ve hardly been the most sympathetic listener in the short time we’ve known each other, but I assure you I wasn’t laughing at your suggestion, Sandburg. In fact, I can see where you’re going with this, and I’m prepared to give it a try. As soon as you have time, we can get some practice in, OK?” 

Relaxing at Jim’s words, and ashamed now for his hasty response, Blair sighed before meeting Jim’s eyes, a rueful smile twitching the full lips as he explained. 

“Sorry, man. You didn’t deserve that, I know. It’s just...well...you see, I’ve always been the odd one out. Whatever schools I ended up in - and there were a lot of them - I was always in accelerated programmes, man. All my life I’ve been the shortest, youngest, brightest in my class, and I got a lot of grief from the other kids. Their parents too, sometimes. Everyone hates the class nerd, you know? I kept screwing up the performance curve. So I guess I expect to be laughed at, man. Sad but true!” he finished self-deprecatingly, huge blue eyes unconsciously begging for understanding. 

Taken aback both at Sandburg’s words and his own reaction to them, Jim decided that now wasn’t the time or place to explore deeply personal revelations, either Blair’s or his own, so he simply grinned supportively as he said, “No problem, Chief. And for what it’s worth, those kids didn’t know what they were missing! Now, I guess you’d better get going if you’re not going to be late for your office hours, eh?” 

Smiling gratefully, Blair was about to reply when Jim’s cell phone rang. Frowning in irritation, Jim pulled it from his pocket, murmuring, “Sorry, Sandburg. Better take this...” as he put it to his ear. 

A moment later, his frown had deepened noticeably as Blair heard him respond to the caller’s words. 

“What? Where? The warehouse district? On my way, Captain!” and Jim terminated the call, shoving the phone back into his pocket as he said, “Sorry, Chief. Got to go. A body’s been found down by the docks, and it looks like it could be Mancini’s snitch.” 

Mind already back on his job, Jim was surprised when Blair clasped his arm, saying urgently, “Should I come with you, Jim? Will you be OK? I mean, if you were thinking of using the senses?” and he blushed, cringing at his presumption. 

Jim paused for a moment, thinking hard, then said, “What about your office hours, Chief? And this isn’t going to be pretty. The Captain said it looks like the guy’s been dead for some days...” 

Resolve hardening despite his pallor, Blair nodded firmly. “It’s OK, Jim. I’ll call the department secretary and tell her something’s come up. I can always make up the hours tomorrow. I want to help, man. You need me...” and he fixed Jim with his most appealing expression. 

“OK, Chief. Let’s go!” and without further ado, both men hurried to where Jim’s jeep was parked, to drive to the scene as quickly as possible.  


\-----------------------  


In what seemed to Blair like mere minutes later, Jim pulled up alongside the yellow tape designating a crime scene, just in front of a dilapidated waterfront warehouse. In between holding on for his life during the dramatic drive, Blair had somehow managed to call his department secretary to explain that he was going to be delayed, and was now gazing around him worriedly. 

“Oh, man!” he whispered almost to himself. “This is only a couple blocks from my warehouse! This is really creepy, man!” 

“Yeah, well, don’t say I didn’t warn you, kid!” muttered Jim distractedly as he strode towards the tape. Addressing one of the uniforms guarding the entrance, he said, “Hey, Ignacio! What’ve we got here then?” 

Casting a speculative glance at Blair, who had crept up to stand behind Jim’s left shoulder, the young Hispanic cop replied, “Not sure, Detective, but Detective Mancini’s just stormed out looking real mad. The Sarge thinks it’s his informant...?” 

Nodding briskly, Jim replied, “OK. Thanks, Manny. If it is, Mancini’s going to be really pissed...” and he ducked under the tape, peripherally aware that Sandburg was close on his heels, but too wrapped up in his thoughts to note the cop’s eyes greedily following their progress, his frowning gaze fixed particularly on Sandburg. 

Striding down the narrow alley between the warehouse and its equally dilapidated neighbour, the two men found themselves on a tiny, trash-littered stretch of muddy beach, on which a hastily-erected tent had been placed to shield the body from sight and from more damage from the elements. As they approached, Blair by now almost glued to Jim’s back, the tent flap opened to reveal the large, fully-suited figure of Dan Wolf, Cascade PD’s resident ME. Recognising Jim immediately, he pulled down his face mask and closed the distance between them, face splitting into a smile of greeting. 

“Hey, Detective Ellison! Nice to see you, man, but never in these circumstances, I guess?” 

Smiling back automatically at the welcome in the big Native American’s broad, open features, Jim responded, “Hey, Dan. What’ve you got here? Officer Ignacio says it could be Mancini’s informant?” 

Face growing serious once more, Wolf nodded in affirmation. “Yeah, Jim. I’m afraid it’s Dixie. And just between you and me, he didn’t die easily. Mancini’s just ID’d him, and shot out of here with a face like thunder, so be prepared for sparks to fly. I won’t be able to tell you much more for certain until I’ve done the autopsy, but you can take a peek if you want before we bag him for transport.” 

At Jim’s nod, Dan turned back to the tent and pulled back the flap to reveal the bloated and mottled corpse and allow Jim access. However, Jim had been concentrating so hard on the matter in hand, he had completely forgotten about Blair, and both he and Dan were startled by the gasp of horror behind them as Blair clamped his hand to his mouth, gagging both at the smell and the sight of raggedly torn and decomposing tissue. 

“Shit, Chief! You shouldn’t be here!” muttered Jim worriedly as he took the smaller man’s arm and steered him away from the immediate vicinity. “You OK? Look, just sit down here and put your head down, Chief”, and he pushed Blair down to sit on the dirty sand. Squatting down in front of the grad student, Jim pushed the damp curls back from the sweaty forehead as he regarded the young man with concern mixed with no little irritation. 

“Jeez. Sandburg! What on Earth’s wrong with you? Why did you follow me into the crime scene if you can’t stomach what you’ll see?” However, he was unable to maintain his anger when Blair raised his face to meet Jim’s gaze. His complexion was actually green-tinged, and his expression mortified; tear-filled eyes sad and pleading. 

“I’m sorry, Jim. I thought I could hold it together better than that. And I thought you might need me..?” and his voice tailed off as he met Jim’s perplexed stare. 

After a few seconds, Jim let out his breath in an exasperated sigh, letting go of his residual irritation in the face of Blair’s real distress. 

“OK, Chief. Look, I’m going to arrange with Dan to watch the autopsy, and then I’m taking you home. We can talk about this later, OK?” and he rose to his feet, not waiting for a verbal response as he strode back to speak with Dan, whose questioning gaze flicked over to Blair’s slumped figure as they talked quietly. 

“Sorry about that, Dan,” Jim said straight off, wanting to clear the air immediately. “Sandburg’s a civilian, a witness who happened to be getting a lift home when I got the call to attend the scene. I didn’t realise he was following me,” he said earnestly, knowing that at least that part was true. “I’ll talk to him, OK? He’s an intelligent guy, so I don’t think he’ll make trouble.” 

Knowing the big cop’s reputation for honesty, Dan nodded in reply, satisfied at the explanation. “Sure, Jim. Just don’t let him throw up in your car, hey? Anyhow, I’ll get this case pushed up in the schedule so it’ll be done today. I’ll give you a call before I begin. How’s that sound?” 

“Sounds fair enough, Dan, and thanks. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d better drop my witness off at home!” Holding out his hand for Dan to shake, he turned back to Blair and hauled the smaller man to his feet, guiding him back to the jeep and away from the distressful scene. 

Once settled in the passenger seat, Blair stared resolutely at the hands clasped in his lap, unwilling to begin what would undoubtedly be a discussion full of recrimination, both self-directed and from Jim also. 

Acutely aware of his smaller passenger’s distress, Jim pulled up outside Blair’s warehouse a few minutes later, and turned to face the young man. Keeping his voice soft and unthreatening, he surprised himself with his compassion as he asked gently, “OK, Chief. We’re here. Now, would you mind telling me why you followed me if you knew you couldn’t stomach it? I mean, you won’t be the first one who couldn’t hold it together. It’s never easy confronting a corpse, and many a cop has tossed his cookies at the sight. But I thought an anthropologist, archaeologist, or whatever you are would be used to that sort of thing?” and he was genuinely interested to hear Blair’s response. 

After a moment, Blair finally raised his head and met Jim’s regard, still somewhat ashamed, but needing to explain. 

“I really am sorry, Jim. I thought I could do better than that, truly. But see, archaeologists and anthro students like me usually deal with history – or pre-history man,” and he paused, seeing Jim’s perplexed frown. “See, Jim, sure, we deal with bodies, and piecing together clues as to how they died, a bit like a modern crime scene, I guess. But the scenes we usually deal with are several hundred years old, man, and any bones and remains are usually desiccated. No ‘ick’ factor for me, you see? But your forensic archaeologists and CSIs have to deal with recently dead bodies, man. Still juicy, if you know what I mean? The taphonomic methodology they study might be similar, but it’s way more immediate – way more _gross_ , Jim!” and he shuddered in real dismay. “Got to say, I really admire their application, though. Talk about the ‘Body Farm!’”, and he tailed off, lowering his gaze to his hands again as he worked at pulling himself together. 

Finally understanding where the young man was coming from, Jim nodded slowly and tried to put his reply into words that would comfort and reassure Blair without making him feel belittled. 

“It’s OK, Chief. I do understand, I promise. I just never considered there was much difference, you know? But that’s only because I wasn’t interested enough in the subject to make the distinction, OK? Now I know, I won’t hold it against you if you can’t get comfortable with crime scenes. That’s if we ever get to work them together anyway. Which isn’t a given yet, is it?” he added a little wistfully, secretly thinking that today’s incident was yet more reason for Blair to back away from the idea of partnering him. 

“Truth be told, Chief, there are very few cops – or even military types – who are actually blasé about death. And they’re the ones who turn out to have real psych problems, kid, believe you me!” 

Feeling a little better at hearing Jim’s words, Blair looked up to meet his gaze again, eyes slightly less worried, but reflecting his gratitude. 

“Thanks, man. You don’t know how much it means to me that you don’t think I’m a total wimp. If, and I repeat _if,_ we choose to work together, I’ll try to do better in future, promise.” Then, squaring his shoulders, he continued more strongly, “But meanwhile, I’m thinking I need to call Stan again, don’t you agree? How about I try for tomorrow night?” and he fixed Jim with an enquiring look. 

Grinning wryly, and appreciating the other man’s determination, Jim nodded in approval. 

“You’re a real trouper, Chief, you know that? And yes, that’d be good if you can do it without raising any suspicion. Now, you want me to leave you here, or shall I take you back to Rainier so you can pick up your car?” 

Blair’s smile was dazzling as he eagerly absorbed Jim’s praise, and he almost bounced in his seat as he replied, “Back to Rainier, if you don’t mind, Jim! I need to at least check if there are any students still hanging around wanting to see me, and I’m lost without my wheels, man!”  


\------------------------  


The following days were exhausting for all those involved in the Bartlett sting. Although the Vice unit had other cases to work, for the team of Jim, Mancini and Fellowes, the pornography case had priority, with Captain Sullivan’s full approval. The principle reason was because of the death of Mancini’s informant, which had hit the detective very hard. 

Dan Wolf had performed the autopsy on the young man, and had confirmed that Dixie had died a horrible death after a protracted session of beating and torture, so it was hardly surprising that he had given up everything he knew about the ongoing investigation. Enough for those involved to have removed all evidence from The Goldmine, and relocate it to a new film venue in an anonymous unit some distance away in another industrial park. It was also evident from Mancini’s reaction that Dixie had been as much a friend as informant, and his cold-eyed desire for vengeance drove him to pursue any and all leads he could get his hands on. 

However, the deliberately brutal nature of Dixie’s torture and execution had had the intended effect on Cascade’s criminal underbelly, and for the time being, would-be snitches were keeping very quiet. The only vague whispers to reach the Vice cops hinted that the execution had been performed by out-of-town hit-men, which in turn confirmed their suspicions that Bartlett’s operation was merely part of a much bigger organisation. Having witnessed the autopsy, and read the report describing the horrific injuries and the methods used to inflict them, Jim was persuaded that the vicious overkill suggested the involvement of elements from the new and powerful Russian mafia organisation which had its base in and around Seattle, but with interests stretching up and down the Pacific North West. 

Sharing his theory with Mancini, Fellowes and Sullivan, he found his own emotions torn. He was a cop, and a damned good one, and he was wholly committed to doing his part to bring down as much of the organisation as possible, particularly the bastards who had killed Dixie. As far as the ‘execution squad’ was concerned, it was a fair bet that some of the same men were probably responsible for the ‘disposal’ of used-up and unwanted prostitutes, pimps and snuff ‘porn stars’ both in Cascade and elsewhere. 

Information shared between Cascade PD’s Vice Unit and other similar departments up and down the coast revealed some marked similarities between killing methods, but no material proof linking any specific individuals. Their opposite numbers in Seattle Vice had propounded a man who went by the name of ‘Dade’ as a prime suspect; but very little was known about him outside rumour and hearsay except that he was the right-hand man of the up-and-coming crime lord known simply as Stephan. And fear of reprisal made certain that nothing concrete was forthcoming about either the men or the organisation. 

And therein lay Jim’s dilemma. He ached to bring the evil bastards down, but was torn by guilt at having persuaded Blair to become involved in a sting which now looked as if it could be the first step in a much bigger, and potentially bloody campaign to uncover and destroy a lucrative branch of a wide-reaching and increasingly powerful organisation. 

The fact that it involved other States and probable human trafficking as well as the dissemination of digital and hard-copy graphic pornography virtually ensured eventual FBI intervention, and Jim wanted Blair out of harm’s way. The very thought of the young man being exploited in such a manner made him shudder, and the possibility of Blair suffering the sort of agony Dixie must have endured was enough to make him feel sick to his stomach. 

However, he knew that his team members wouldn’t take kindly to his suggestion that they pull Blair out unless the grad student appeared to be in imminent danger, and Blair himself was fully committed to his role. 

But Jim was uncomfortably aware that Blair was mostly in it for Jim’s sake, wanting to impress a man who had unwittingly become both Holy Grail and hero. The realisation was humbling, and Jim knew for sure he didn’t deserve the accolade. 

So all he could do was to ensure he did his utmost to keep Blair safe, and if he persuaded himself that it was simply because it was the right thing to do and not because he was growing genuinely fond of the man who could be his Guide, he was fooling no-one but himself.  


\-----------------------------  


As for Blair, his life had taken on a manic quality which despite his reputation of being an Energiser Bunny stretched him to his limits. With little time for sleep, he juggled his considerable workload at Rainier with regular but clandestine meetings with Jim and more frequent sessions at The Goldmine as he flirted innocently with Stan and attempted to gather information for the sting. 

Although unable to do more than snatch occasional hours together at convenient moments, Blair had had a remarkable influence on Jim’s ability to control his senses enough to function adequately without too much stress. Guiding the Sentinel through the process of dialling his senses up and down had quickly enabled Jim to keep his senses at normal levels, but the cop was growing more and more antsy about not being able to utilise his gifts at work. 

The most recent meeting saw them in the public park down by the harbour front during a snatched lunch break, and from the outset Jim had grumbled incessantly about his growing frustration. 

“Look, Chief, I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me so far, and it’s a great relief not to suffer the side-effects of spiking senses, but what use are they if I still can’t use them to benefit my job? I thought you said that so-called Sentinels were genetically programmed to be watchmen and protectors? Well, that’s as may be, but I’m still only working at a normal level. I mean, I know I’m a good detective, with or without your ‘genetic advantage’, so perhaps I should just forget about the senses and hope they just go away!” 

He knew he was hurting Blair, and watching the emotions flitting across the mobile features stabbed at his guilty conscience, but he was only human, and the stress from the case – and from trying to keep Blair at arm’s length – was getting to him. 

And yes, he was aware that he was trying to protect himself from future pain by pushing the delectable younger man away before he got too close. Before Sandburg left him for pastures new. Because Jim was certain that a bright and beautiful creature like Blair surely had the academic world at his feet, and he couldn’t see a place for a hard-nosed and cynical cop in the picture. 

And if Blair stayed purely out of loyalty because he felt obliged to fulfil his role as Guide to Jim’s Sentinel, what sort of relationship could they look forward to? Because as far as Jim was concerned, it was all or nothing. He wanted Blair for himself, and himself alone. If Blair committed to him, there would be no-one else for either of them. Ever. 

Abruptly losing interest in the hot dog clutched in his hand, Blair stared at Jim with wounded eyes, trying to make sense of the bigger man’s unexpectedly harsh words and intransigent attitude. A huge lump of disappointment clogged his throat as he sought a way to get through to Jim without annoying him further. 

Eventually plucking up the courage, he tried to voice his feelings, knowing that he was probably laying himself open for further ridicule as he did so. But as far as he was concerned, it was Jim – and in particular Jim the Sentinel - who was more important in the grand scheme of things, and if he had to swallow his pride again, then surely it was worth it? 

“Oh, Jim! I’m so sorry. So sorry you feel that way. I thought we were making good progress here with your overall control, and I really felt that we could take it a stage further now. I mean, I was going to suggest you practising grounding yourself on me whenever we got the chance so you could at least begin to experiment with using your senses in the field. I was thinking that if you could get a handle on using them with me around, it would become more natural for you? As long as you didn’t overdo it, that is. 

“And it shouldn’t be so very long until I can be with you more – once the operation’s done. If you want me, that is...” and he tailed off unhappily at the stony expression on Jim’s face. 

Jim stared long and hard at the younger man’s upturned face, cataloguing every nuance of the dismay, longing and hope that played across it. Gods! How had he managed to get himself into this position? All he had wanted was to persuade Sandburg to volunteer for his planned sting, and possibly have a little light-hearted and mutually satisfying sexual activity on the side. Instead he had ended up becoming emotionally involved with the guy, the growing need to protect him deeper than anything he had ever felt for anyone before. 

Suddenly it was all too much, and he shook his head decisively. 

“Sorry, Chief. I can’t talk about his now. I have to get back to the station. 

“Look, if you’re going ahead with the photo session tonight, I’ll be there as usual, so perhaps we can continue this later, OK?” and without waiting for a reply, he strode away across the grass, berating himself for his cowardice and leaving a shell-shocked Blair staring after him.  


\----------------------  


**That evening, Blair’s warehouse:**  


Blair gazed bleakly around his shabby home and shivered in the pervading chill. The weather outside was still remarkably mild for Fall in Cascade, but the warehouse was already feeling uncomfortably damp. Frankly, Blair was dreading spending winter here, glumly wondering how on Earth he was supposed to survive without getting hypothermia. Of course, if he was allowed to keep the substantial sums of cash Stan was paying him, he could probably afford something better once the operation was over, but since he hadn’t actually asked yet, he had put the bulk of it into his bank, spending only what he needed in order to eat. 

With a sigh, he pulled himself up from his sagging sofa, knowing he had to get ready for his photo session. He was long past feeling any excitement about his role, concentrating now simply on getting the job done, and trying to avoid ending up in Stan’s bed. He was at the stage now where he was constantly being touched and groped by the lecherous photographer, under the guise of being positioned and posed for the shots. Of course, whereas he would normally have told the older man to take a hike, he knew he couldn’t do that and maintain his role as ‘inside man’, so he just had to suck it up and try to protect himself slightly by inventing a protective and possessive ‘boyfriend’ in an attempt to dampen Stan’s ardour. 

However, had he but known it, the fictional lover bothered Stan not at all, because he was already envisioning Blair on his film set, and in his bed, having just the right material with which to persuade the beautiful young man. But he wouldn’t call it blackmail – yet. 

As Blair pulled on his least ratty thrift store top coat, and grabbed his car keys, he was ruefully aware that a lot of his depression this evening was related to the painful lunchtime meeting with Jim. Exiting the warehouse and pulling the ramshackle door closed behind him, he walked over to the ancient Corvair, deep in thought. 

He admitted to himself that he had been shocked and hurt by Jim’s latest outburst, because he had been so sure the big cop had been satisfied with their progress so far, both in the set-up and with the work they had done on his senses. He did understand that a Sentinel such as Jim must be impatient to utilise his abilities to the full, but had thought that the fact that he could now keep them at a level where he was no longer in danger of sensory spikes and potential zones would have been enough. At least until such time as they could practice properly in the open without the necessity of all these furtive, snatched assignations. 

But he knew he was only fooling himself. Jim had a right to his frustration, because Blair had still failed to give him a real answer about the possibility of working together as Sentinel and Guide. Because he was scared. Scared of committing himself to someone who he both admired and feared, and scared that, should he do so, he may come to regret his decision much further down the line, and there would be absolutely nothing he could do about it. Because with all of the research he had done on the subject, he was equally sure now that an agreement to work together necessitated a bonding of some sort, and once undergone, it couldn’t be undone. Sentinel and Guide remained so for life. 

Sighing again, he continued to drive to the studio, this time turning his thoughts to what the coming session would entail. He grimaced wryly at the likely scenario, since he was now long past the level of simple fashion shots. By this stage he had allowed himself be ‘groomed’ for what could euphemistically be called ‘glamour photos’, involving increasingly scanty clothing and more suggestive poses. And that was another thing. Although Blair considered himself to be open-minded and free-thinking because of his unconventional childhood with Naomi, he was still rather body-conscious and shy when it came to putting himself on display, and he felt increasingly dirty and abused. This was so different from the simple pose required by the art class students which was totally innocent in comparison. 

He didn’t have anything against those who chose to make a living this way, but it didn’t suit him at all, and he still failed to understand what Stan and his clients could see in Blair. But at least he must surely be reaching the point when Stan would ask him about appearing in one of his films, and once Blair had the information he needed, he would be out of there, and the sting could go down. 

And of course, he was uncomfortably aware that Jim, as his back-up, was listening to every word.  


\------------------  


While Blair was making his way to The Goldmine, Stan was directing the setting up of the new scenes he intended to use, rubbing his hands in satisfaction as he already imagined his beautiful Blair spread enticingly over the artfully-draped chaise-longue. And he had a surprise for his favourite model today. This time Blair wouldn’t be alone, but would be posing with another of his regular models; a dark haired and dark-eyed Hispanic beauty called Maria Ignacio. Who just happened to be Officer Emanuel Ignacio’s older sister. 

If the chemistry between them was as good as Stan hoped it would be, then they would be the stars of his next production, and he couldn’t wait to see the results. 

He had already recommenced filming, although having held back for a while as per Dade’s instructions, and his most recent movie had already hit the streets – or rather, the websites frequented by his perverted ‘clientele’. He intended his new one to be erotic enough to whet the appetite of his best customers, so that once he had drawn Blair fully into his stable of performers, his new star would be filmed in increasingly adult situations, with both men and women, and eventually, groups also. 

And by that stage, Stan was certain that Blair would be living with him, and sharing his bed every night for as long as Stan wanted him. 

Of course, should he ever get bored with him, then there was always a good way of ridding himself of the younger man. One which would be very satisfying and which would make him plenty of money also. Snuff films were, after all, his most lucrative sideline.  


\-----------------------  


Hours later Jim watched a truly miserable Sandburg drag himself to his car to drive back to the warehouse. He could barely restrain himself from approaching the desolate figure, wanting only to hold and comfort the young man, but he guessed that his attention wouldn’t be welcomed right now. His supposition was confirmed when a soft voice whispered, “If you’re still listening in, Jim, you’ll know what’s been going down, and I really don’t want to talk about it, OK? Catch up with you tomorrow, man. ‘Night, Jim,” and Jim could do nothing else but respect his friend’s wishes and watch him drive away. 

Jim was far from happy himself, having been forced to listen to every word and sound during the session, and his imagination had run riot at what he was hearing. It took all of his self-control not to force his way in to the studio and pull Blair out of there, but not before punching Stan Bartlett’s lights out. Like Blair, he had known that the sessions would get hotter since the intention was to entrap Bartlett after all, but also like Blair he hadn’t foreseen how sickened it would make him feel. And he was just listening in! How much worse must it be for the grad student to have his innocence and self-esteem stripped away little by little just because Jim had asked him to participate? Despite knowing that it was a necessary evil if Jim and his team were to do their job, Jim couldn’t help but feel an abiding shame for having involved Sandburg; and he wished with all his heart that he could call a halt to the whole affair. The only good thing was that it sounded like Stan was ready to bite, so once Blair had gotten the information Jim and his colleagues needed, he was out and in the clear once again. 

Something else that Jim was able to report about tonight’s session, which he hoped would at least provide a little compensation for Blair, was that he had actually used his enhanced hearing to listen in this time, and he was quietly gratified to find that he really was more effective than the directional mic he had used up to this point. 

Without wanting to risk putting himself into a zone, Jim had nevertheless experimented carefully with one of the suggestions Blair had made a couple of days ago, to divide his attention by anchoring one sense while he used another, thus eliminating the possibility of losing himself in one sense alone. He didn’t yet have the confidence to try it without backup under most circumstances, but as it was Blair he was concentrating on this time, he was fairly sure he would be pretty well grounded anyway, and that had turned out to be the case. Stimulating his sense of touch by rubbing his hand continuously over the rough fabric of his jacket, he had sent out his hearing, and had listened to every word. 

He supposed self-congratulations might be in order, but couldn’t bring himself to consider it, since the results of his success were so distressing. But perhaps Blair would be pleased when they talked tomorrow? He could but hope so.  


\---------------------------  


**Following day, Blair’s office:**  


Blair sat at his desk, trying valiantly to drum up a modicum of enthusiasm for the paper he was trying to finish, but for once completely failing to find any interest in a subject which would normally hold his attention with ease. 

Sighing despondently, he hit ‘save’ and pushed his laptop aside, knowing that he was wasting his time and deciding instead to make a coffee run to the nearest students’ common room to try and clear his head. He knew that his prolonged depression was out of character for him, but also recognised that he had cause. However, he told himself that once the dual problems of the undercover operation and the question of his relationship with Jim Ellison were dealt with, he fervently hoped his enthusiasm for anthropology and life in general would return. 

Little did he know that a combination of events had already been set in motion which had the potential to send his life to hell in a hand basket.  


\----------------------  


As he stood to leave his office, he heard a soft knock at the door, and at his invitation, it opened to reveal Professor Davies, smiling self-confidently and holding a manila padded envelope in his hands. 

“Good morning, dear boy!” he began, stepping right up to Blair’s untidy desk. 

“So good to see you looking so well, Blair. You’re obviously enjoying your second career in modelling, eh?” and he sat down uninvited in the only available uncluttered chair. 

“Um, hi, Professor. Ah, good to see you too. What can I do for you, sir? Do you need me for your art class after all?” 

“Oh no, nothing like that, I’m afraid, dear boy, although I should love to have you pose for me again, I must confess. No, this is something more exciting, although I say it myself,” and he pushed the envelope over to Blair, smiling in invitation. 

Internal alarm bells ringing, Blair sank back down in his seat and reached for the envelope, but didn’t withdraw the contents immediately. 

“I’m sorry, Professor, but I don’t understand? What are you talking about?” 

With an overly-dramatic sigh, Davies fixed him with a somewhat pitying glance as he responded. 

“Well, you see, dear boy, it’s like this. My friend Stan is most taken with you and your talent. I’ve seen the results of his work with you, and I have to agree that you have huge potential. But Stan – and I – both feel you might need a little persuasion to see things our way. To encourage you to take the next step, do you see? You’ve always been so very ethical....so _self-righteous!_

“But see for yourself, dear boy! You could be truly stunning! A real star performer!” and he nodded at the envelope again, eyebrow raised quizzically as he waited for Blair to respond. 

Knowing that nothing good was going to come of this, Blair slowly drew the envelope towards him and tipped out the contents, which turned out to be several 8 x 10 glossy photos. 

The subject matter was enough to make him throw himself back hard in his seat as his brain fought against recognising and accepting what his eyes were telling him. 

“Oh goddess! How? _Why?”_ was all he could mutter as he painfully studied the pictures spread out before him in all their repellent glory. 

Each scene depicted a couple, half of them male/female and the rest male/male, nude and engaged in extremely graphic sexual activity. Blair supposed that to some people, the results might be considered artistic, by a very long stretch of the imagination, but by far the worst thing was that his own head had been cleverly superimposed on each of the smaller male models. 

Sure, he knew they were beautifully executed digital manipulations, but it wouldn’t be obvious to the general viewing public who would see what they wanted to see. And more importantly, a mischief-making few might use the images for their own purposes, and then he would be in deep trouble. 

White with shock, he raised horrified eyes to meet Davies’ satisfied smirk. 

“Please tell me these haven’t been distributed online! I’ll never be taken seriously here again, even if I’m not sent down for bringing Rainier into disrepute! Why are you doing this? It’s Stan’s work, isn’t it?” 

“Calm down, dear boy!” responded Davies, waving an admonishing finger at the distraught young man. 

“No, they haven’t been distributed yet, although the notion is very tempting. To be honest, I think Stan and I would much prefer to see the real thing, not a cobbled-up manipulation. But I think they would certainly impress others...” and he paused as if contemplating the idea. 

As Blair fought against shedding tears of frustration and distress, Davies looked up again and smiled wolfishly at his prey. 

“But of course it needn’t come to that, Blair. All you have to do to keep these from circulating around campus – and the Chancellor’s office – is to agree to take up Stan’s offer of starring in his latest movie. After all, once you accept how truly photogenic you are, and how much money Stan could put your way, this pitifully-paid TA post will pale into insignificance. Distribution of your image will be a matter for pride, not shame! 

“I’ll leave you now to think on our offer, Blair. But I sincerely hope you’ll come up with the right answer,” he added with barely-veiled threat. 

“’Bye for now, dear boy, but I know I’ll be speaking to you soon!” and he waggled his fingers playfully at the crushed figure slumped unseeingly in his seat. 

For what seemed like an age Blair sat in place, trying to get his head around what he had just heard. The photos stared accusingly up at him from his desk, and he couldn’t even find the strength to gather them up and hide them away. Tears tracked slowly down his pale cheeks as his world collapsed around him, and for a while he felt completely at the mercy of fate’s notorious fickleness. 

However, he was actually far more resilient than he would have given himself credit for, so after taking several cleansing breaths, he wiped his face with his sleeve and pulled himself together. 

Shoving the photos back in the envelope, knowing they would be needed as evidence even as his inner self yelled at him to destroy them, he reached for the telephone and speed-dialled Jim’s extension at the PD. As he listened to it ring, he drummed his fingers in agitation muttering, “Come on, Jim! Pick up, man! Hurry!” 

Eventually it was answered, and he burst out, “Jim! Man, this is important! I have --” only to be stopped in his tracks when an unfamiliar voice cut in, stating, “Detective Ellison isn’t in the office right now. Can I take a message?” 

Hissing in frustration, Blair didn’t even bother to respond, but slammed the phone back down before snatching it up again, this time dialling Jim’s cell phone number. 

Once again it rang unanswered until Jim’s voicemail service kicked in. By now almost beside himself in agitation and anxiety, Blair forced himself to leave a coherent message, praying that Jim would pick it up as soon as possible. 

“Hey, Jim. Look, I have a problem, man. Prof Davies just dropped by my office with a packet of porno pictures. Stan’s doctored them so it looks like I’m posing in them, but it’s not me, I swear, Jim. Please call by my office at Rainier as soon as you can. I’ll leave the packet on my desk. 

“I’m going to see Stan now and see if I can get this mess sorted out, OK? Speak to you soon, Jim,” and he put the phone down, stubbornly determined on a course of action even as his normally well-developed sense of self-preservation tried vainly to warn him against proceeding further without support.  


\--------------------  


As Blair drove to Stan’s exclusive waterfront apartment, trying to keep himself calm enough to stay within the legal speed limits, and planning what he was going to say, Stan was also having an interesting telephone conversation. His caller was Maria Ignacio, and her information caused Stan to redden with fury.  


\-----------------  


When Maria had returned home from her photo shoot with Blair, she had taken a long and luxurious bath and snuggled up in bed, intending to have a good long lie-in before readying herself for the next day’s film session. 

Much later the following morning she awoke to find a visitor knocking at her door, patiently waiting for her to open up. 

“Manny, baby! How are you, baby bro? It’s been a while! I thought you were too wrapped up in your cop business now to worry about little ol’ me anymore!” and she threw her arms around the young man, pressing a kiss to his cheek. 

Hugging her back, Manny responded with a laugh. “No, Maria, I’m never too busy to make time for you, honey. And it’s not like my ‘cop business’ is all that interesting yet. Once I get done with patrol and get my detective’s shield it’ll be better. And I’ve already started making my contacts so I can earn myself a bonus or two!” and he grinned down at her, eyebrows waggling suggestively. 

Knowing exactly what he meant, Maria laughed in response, not in the least concerned about her brother’s acknowledged dishonesty. In her universe, crooked cops were a fact of life, and if Manny could benefit from a word in the right ear, then so be it. 

“Well, good for you, baby, but I need a coffee. It was a long session last night. Good though. Stan’s got this new model and he’s a real looker. Very sweet too. I enjoyed working with him. See, here’s a rough shot of us together,” and she pulled a print out of her purse. 

Manny took it with a grin, only for his face to crease in consternation as he studied the photograph. 

“I know this guy. I saw him at a crime scene with Detective Ellison from Vice. It was when they found the body of that snitch, Dixie. I’m sure there’s something between them, Maria. Ellison was real protective of the kid.” 

Frowning in her turn, Maria thought for a moment then replied, “I think Stan ought to know about this, Manny. It could mean nothing, but if Ellison comes sniffing around The Goldmine again; it could be because Blair’s been talking to him. And you know what Stan’ll think about that!” 

Nodding in agreement, Manny had no qualms when his sister picked up the phone and called Bartlett at home.  


\-------------------------  


Slamming the phone down, Stan turned to face the man sitting across from him. Dade was on another routine trip to Cascade, and he had called in on Stan to check out how the new film studio venue was working out. He had already had his ear bent by Stan’s waxing lyrical about his new star, so he was mildly surprised when Bartlett spat out, “I can’t believe it! Blair, my beautiful Blair! He’s a traitor! He’s been working with that bastard Ellison from Vice! All this time I’ve been grooming a traitor!” and he picked up a nearby vase and hurled it across the room to smash against the opposite wall. 

Sighing in feigned exasperation, Dade studied his buffed nails for a moment before responding to Stan’s outburst. 

“Oh dear, such a shame. And he sounded so promising too,” he murmured in faux sympathy. 

“But I’m sure you can work things out with him, Bartlett. After all, he could still star in your next film, couldn’t he? And it would be the pinnacle of his career. Even if he won’t live long enough to appreciate it,” he ended, voice now steeped in menace. 

As he considered the other’s words, Stan’s frown gradually eased as he thought it through. Yes, he was disappointed, because he had envisaged a long and lucrative partnership with Sandburg. His little present of the manipulated photos would have ensured that. But then again, he could also ensure that Blair’s one and only screen performance was truly epic. He could almost taste the acclaim, and visualise the profits rolling in from his avid movie fans. 

Just then, his intercom buzzed and a familiar voice demanded entry. With a predatory smile, Stan winked at Dade as he purred, “Blair, my dear! Please, come in!” and he pressed the button to open the apartment block’s outer door....  


\----------------------  


By the time Jim finally picked up Blair’s voicemail, Blair was well on his way to Bartlett’s apartment. Jim cursed as he listened, angry that he hadn’t been in a position to respond immediately, and even more furious that the stubborn little shit had probably already gone without him. He had been chasing down a lead in an area of town with a very poor signal, so his cell hadn’t rung. And he cursed himself now for completely missing the double beep that denoted a new voicemail message. Throwing the instrument down onto the passenger seat, he gunned the engine and roared off to Rainier, praying that he would be in time to prevent Blair from doing something really stupid. 

Storming into Blair’s office, already knowing that it was unoccupied, Jim spotted the envelope on the untidy desk. Snatching it up, he pulled out the contents and growled in fury as he quickly studied the graphic images. To be sure, they had been very competently done, and Blair’s lovely features were shown to their best advantage superimposed on the other bodies, but the activities displayed turned Jim’s stomach. Even a hardened Vice cop had his limits. 

Pulling out his cell phone again, he speed-dialled Sullivan’s office, and as soon as his Captain responded, he filled him in on what had happened. As he talked, he tucked the packet of photos under his arm and hurried back to his jeep, intending to drive straight over to Bartlett’s apartment building to see if he could prevent Blair from getting himself into a serious predicament. 

“So you’re sure that Sandburg will try to confront Bartlett, Jim?” Sullivan was saying as Jim opened the driver’s door and climbed in. Tucking the cell into his shoulder, Jim gunned the engine as he replied, heading out of the campus parking lot as if the hounds of hell were after him. 

“Yeah, I’m sure, Captain! The little shit’s got more balls than sense in a situation like this. Look, I’ll call you again when I get there, and fill you in on the situation, OK? I’ll be able to hear what’s going down, so it might be a judgement call whether I go in or not, but you’ll likely need to send back-up!” 

He could easily hear the dubious yet resigned tones that coloured Sullivan’s words as he responded. 

“Shit, Jim! This isn’t one of your ‘hunches’ again is it? Or are you telling me that you really can hear things that well?” 

And Jim’s sincerity was clear as he grated out, “Yes, sir. That’s exactly what I’m saying. I _can_ hear further than most people, and it’s only because of Blair that I can control it. He understands what I can do, and he helps me. _I need him, Captain!”_

For a shocked moment, Sullivan was silent, then he spoke with determination. “OK, Jim. I believe you. Go now, and report back as soon as you can. And don’t do _anything_ without telling me first!” and he rang off, already concentrating on organising appropriate backup to support his best detective and the impetuous civilian insider.  


\---------------------  


Meanwhile, Blair had parked up in front of Bartlett’s imposing apartment block, and was staring fixedly up at Stan’s floor, trying to get himself under some sort of control. When he had pulled up, he had still been shaking hard with stress and anger, but at last the voice of reason warned him that he was in no condition to confront Stan there and then. Although the impulsive part of him needed to get on with the show, a more measured part listened to reason so he reluctantly sat for a while, trying to find his centre and marshalling his arguments for the upcoming unpleasantness. 

“I am calm, I am relaxed,” he murmured, repeating the mantra for several minutes to help slow his racing heart rate until he felt able to face Stan without screaming hysterically like some comic book prima donna. 

Finally taking a deep breath, he opened the car door and walked over to the building. He pressed the intercom for Stan’s apartment and demanding entrance, congratulating himself on the firmness of his tone even while his insides still twisted queasily. Somewhat surprised at the man’s easy and affable response, when the door was buzzed open, he straightened his shoulders and strode over to the elevator, pushing the button for the 4th floor. As the car rose smoothly, he kept murmuring his mantra, and when the doors opened at Stan’s floor, he stepped out decisively only to stop dead in his tracks. 

Standing outside Stan’s apartment door was one of the biggest and meanest-looking thugs he had ever seen. Although dressed in a suit, which stretched tautly across a powerful chest, it was plain that the guy was someone’s hired muscle, and right now his icy glare was fixed on Blair. 

Inwardly chastising himself for not considering that Stan might have company, Blair gulped audibly as he stepped backwards, intending to make a hasty retreat back to the elevator, only to come up hard against a solid object. Gasping in shock, he realised that a second thug had stepped up behind him from his position beside the elevator door, and was now clutching Blair’s left arm in a grip of steel as the unmistakable feel of a gun barrel pushed against his lower back. 

Eyes wide with terror, Blair obeyed without question when the man growled in his ear, a whiff of bad breath accompanying his command. 

“Move, punk! Mr Bartlett wants a word!” and he sniggered as Blair nodded quickly, complying with alacrity as he was shoved forwards. The second thug opened the door to allow them access, and Blair was thrust through and dragged across the opulent, open-plan living room to be hauled to a stop in front of the room’s occupants, who eyed at him with polite interest, as if he were some sort of exotic specimen. 

Blair stood still, although his trembling was noticeable as he took stock of the two men facing him, deeply disturbed at what he was seeing. 

Both men looked relaxed and totally at ease, although it was Stan’s companion who drew Blair’s particular attention; and he felt the hairs on his neck struggle to rise at the sight. 

The man was of average height and build, and impeccably dressed, with the poise and self-confidence of a highly successful businessman. But it was the expression in his eyes that chilled Blair to the bone. Hard and calculating, they were the merciless eyes of a cold-blooded killer, and Blair could almost feel the blood freeze in his veins. 

On the other hand, Stan’s smile was wide and welcoming, except that it didn’t reach his eyes, which were filled with anger and hatred as they locked with Blair’s own stricken gaze. 

Both men clutched cut glass tumblers in their hands, half filled with amber liquid, and Stan raised his to his lips to take a casual sip before saying, “Blair, dear boy! How lovely of you to drop by. Is there anything I can do for you?” and his smile was now shark-like as he waited for Blair’s response. 

Trying unsuccessfully for nonchalance, Blair snickered uncomfortably as he stammered, “Uh, not really, Stan. I...um...didn’t realise you had company, man. It’s not important, honestly! Nothing that won’t keep. I’ll leave you in peace, OK..?” and he tailed off nervously as Stan slowly shook his head. 

“It’s quite all right, dear boy. There’s nothing you can’t repeat in front of my friend Mr Dade here. After all, he and his partners have a vested interest in my little business, so I’m sure we’d both like to hear what you have to tell us about your friend Detective Ellison!” His smile became a sneer as he watched Blair pale even more dramatically at his words, now swaying slightly in shock. 

However, before Blair could respond, he continued smoothly, indicating the third glass that stood on the glass-topped coffee table before the trembling young man. 

“It’s OK, Blair. Take your time! Have a drink with us first, eh? We might as well be civilised about this...” and he nodded towards the table, eyebrow raised in invitation. 

As Blair opened his mouth to refuse, the gun at his back suddenly rose to stroke against the tender skin of his neck as the goon behind him sniggered menacingly. 

“Do as you’re told, punk, or you’ll get this upside your head!” he growled, tapping the barrel warningly against Blair’s temple. 

Reaching out a shaking hand, Blair picked up the glass, glance flicking anxiously from one to the other as Dade and Stan watched him greedily. Realising he had no choice; he slowly raised the glass to his lips and took a tiny sip, fighting against an urge to cough as the fiery spirit trickled down his throat. The sour aftertaste warned him that it had been spiked in some way, but he was in no position to refuse it, bitterly aware that it would be forced down his throat anyway. 

“Good boy!” crooned Stan in satisfaction. “Now finish it off, baby. You’ll feel much better for it!” and his expression grew cruel as Blair raised the glass again. 

Resigned to his fate, this time Blair chugged the remainder in one go, gasping as the liquid hit his empty stomach. Immediately he felt heat uncoiling inside him to spread quickly through his belly then to his limbs, leaving a delicious feeling of lassitude in its wake. As his vision swayed and dipped, he knew that whatever he had been drugged with was fast-acting, and already his thoughts were becoming jumbled and fragmented. His limbs relaxed abruptly and he collapsed bonelessly into the thug’s arms. As his vision tunnelled, his final conscious image was of Stan’s face, eyes bright and shining in wicked glee as he laughed at the results of his handiwork.  


\-------------------------  


Sitting in his jeep just out of direct line of sight from the apartment building, Jim ground his teeth together so hard in anger and frustration that major dental work seemed likely in the near future. Thanks to Blair’s having taken the time to get himself together, and Jim’s own frantic drive here, he had arrived not long after Blair had actually entered the building. He was therefore in a position to overhear everything from when Blair was forced into the apartment, and the exchanges filled him with cold rage. Once again dividing his attention between two senses; this time his sense of touch was stimulated by sharp fingernails digging into the flesh of his taut thighs. Anchored by the deliberately inflicted pain, he extended his hearing with ease, and locked on to the racing heart of his frightened Guide. 

Although desperate to gallop to Blair’s rescue, he forced himself to stay put and think clearly, taking stock of the situation so he could report back to an impatient Sullivan. He knew that he was outnumbered, and probably outgunned. Not only that, but he first had to gain entry to the building somehow, which would probably negate any element of surprise. It went against the grain to sit there inactive, but the information he had gathered suggested that Blair was in no immediate danger. Bartlett plainly wanted to use him one last time in his next snuff movie, so now was the ideal opportunity to spring their trap and rescue Blair at the same time. 

Pulling back his hearing once he realised the men were preparing to leave the apartment with their victim, Jim dialled Sullivan’s number and quickly delivered his report. 

“Captain. I’m outside Bartlett’s apartment block at Cascade Marina. I was too late to prevent Sandburg from entering, but I overheard what went on. Bartlett was there, with another man who is probably the same ‘Dade’ Seattle PD warned us about. There are two other goons with them, and they’ve drugged Blair. I’m pretty certain they’re going to take him to the new film studio, because Bartlett wants to use him in a snuff movie. And they know about his relationship with me,” he added darkly. 

“I’m sure they haven’t seen me, though, so we should be good to go if we move now. I’m going to follow them, and I’ll relay directions to you as I go. I’ll leave it to you to arrange the backup, but I shall go in, alone if I have to, Captain. Whatever happens, I’m going to rescue Sandburg!” 

“OK, Jim. Listen up! There are two unmarked units parked a few blocks away from you, and Mancini and Fellowes also, all waiting for your directions. Once you get to the studio, wait there until I give the word to go in. I’m driving over towards you now, and I’ve got uniforms on standby, and SWAT if necessary. So don’t go in without us, you hear? If we get Blair out in one piece, I don’t want to have to tell him you died trying to get to him first!” 

“I hear you, Captain,” replied Jim somewhat distractedly. “OK, they’re coming out. They’ve got Blair with them and they’re getting into a black Tahoe, tinted windows. Washington licence plate ‘DAD 31E’. Huh! Talk about pretentious! Arrogant asshole!” he muttered to himself in disgust. 

“There are five of them. Bartlett, another guy, medium height, well-dressed – probably ‘Dade’ – and two muscle-men as protection. They’re well-armed, probably Dade is also. Blair’s out for the count, and they’ve put him right in the back with one of the goons. Second goon’s driving, and Bartlett and Dade are sitting behind him. Setting off now, heading east up Harborview. Turning left at Bayfront. I’m following....”  


\--------------------  


As the Tahoe continued at a steady speed, heading in the opposite direction to The Goldmine, Jim tailed it surreptitiously, relaying the directions to his colleagues who followed at a safe distance. Although tempted to try and listen in to the conversation going on within the vehicle, he knew that it wouldn’t be safe to do so right now, and that it was more important to make sure he didn’t lose them, or his backup. Rather than risk endangering either himself or possibly innocent bystanders by risking a zone, he determined to continue with his eavesdropping as soon as they had reached their destination. He therefore missed Dade’s casual order that Bartlett ensure that Blair’s warehouse was destroyed. Once the young man was dead, he wanted nothing material left to mark his existence or tie him in with The Goldmine other than his unwilling legacy in pictures and on film. Just another victim of criminal exploitation, valueless beyond his capacity to put up and put out. 

Nodding with casual acceptance, Stan said, “No problem, Dade. I’ll call up one of my guys at The Goldmine. He can get over to Sandburg’s place within the hour. I’ve seen the rat hole where Blair lives, and it’s just asking to be burned down. Worst fire hazard I’ve seen in a long time,” and he sniggered at his own sick humour as he pulled out his cell phone to pass on his orders.  


\--------------------------  


A short while later the Tahoe turned into an anonymous industrial site and pulled around the back of an unobtrusive generic unit situated in the midst of many other similar ones. Jim cruised casually on by, carefully checking out the surroundings before parking up at a safe distance to await the backup vehicles converging on the scene. The only signage was a cheaply-produced board proclaiming the company name as ‘Nugget Entertainment Supplies, Inc.’, at the sight of which Jim’s face twisted in disgust at what he assumed was a pathetic attempt at a humorous play on words. _And what else would you call an offshoot of The Goldmine? Sad bastards!_ he thought, sneering disdainfully as he set himself once more to eavesdrop on the activities within the unit, impatient for the opportunity to get on with the bust. 

Digging his nails painfully into his leg once again, he sent out his hearing and quickly latched onto Blair’s by now easily recognisable heartbeat, and his jaw clenched in impotent fury as he continued to listen in.  


\-------------------------  


Although the casual visitor to ‘Nugget Entertainment Supplies, Inc.’ would only see a basically-furnished front office leading to what looked like, and in fact, was, a general storage area, behind a further concealed door there lay the true purpose for the unit. In a sound-proofed and windowless studio, sets, props and lighting equipment rubbed shoulders with cameras and other film-making necessities, while in an adjoining area, state-of-the-art computer technology readied the finished product for distribution both in hard-copy and via the internet. With mafia backing, no expense had been spared in ensuring that Bartlett’s corner of the pornography market remained lucrative for both himself and his criminal investors. 

The most telling evidence that the set-up was far from a bona fide enterprise lay in a further area, which Stan euphemistically called the ‘Green Room.’ Although it certainly was furnished as a dressing room, with space for costume storage and ample make-up supplies and toilet facilities, a pallet in the corner behind a screen had been fitted with restraints specifically for use on those ‘stars’ who weren’t there voluntarily. 

It was here where the goon carrying Blair’s unconscious body laid the young man before stepping back at Stan’s curt nod. 

Having already called ahead to instruct his own people to begin preparations for the upcoming film project, Stan fully intended to make the most of Blair’s beautiful body while he had the chance. Knowing that Dade would be occupied for some time in inspecting the new studio for his progress report to Stephan, Stan decided to indulge himself a little. Besides, although he knew Dade to be a merciless killer, he was aware that the man considered his role as an interrogator and enforcer to be a necessary facet of his chosen employment and nothing more. Certainly he took pride in doing it well, but he took no other interest in it. Gloating lustfully over an intended victim afforded him no pleasure at all so he wouldn’t be upset at Stan’s starting without him. 

Idly considering that Dade didn’t know what he was missing, Stan hummed to himself as he quickly stripped Blair of his clothing before securing him firmly with the restraints at wrist and ankle. Dismissing the hired muscle now the object of his lust was completely helpless, he began to fondle and explore the lax body at leisure. He was really looking forward to Blair waking up enough to realise where he was and what was going to happen to him....  


\-----------------  


A short distance away, Jim was finding it increasingly hard to restrain himself as he continued to listen. Although the sound-proofed studio would have defeated most conventional technology, Jim’s enhanced hearing could still make out a certain amount of what was going down, although without a companion at his side, he struggled to maintain his concentration. Desperately afraid of zoning, he ruefully acknowledged that he and his Guide-to-be needed plenty of practice in order to fine-tune his ability, but first he had to rescue the most likely candidate for the role. He was prepared to make the effort, however, because he also needed to know just what Blair was going through. The guilt he felt at having virtually coerced the younger man into such a potentially lethal situation cramped his gut, and the honourable man behind the dedicated cop demanded he put things right.  


\---------------------  


Inside the Green Room, Stan was enjoying himself immensely, taking his time learning everything he could from the pliant body under his hands. Unconcerned about the consequences now Blair’s fate was sealed, he didn’t hold back from intimate and teasing touches which became increasingly insistent as his darker side took control. 

As for Blair, who was floating in a cloud of semi-consciousness, the touches were initially pleasurable as he drifted contentedly in a dream-like state, aware of nothing except that he was naked and enjoying the attentions of a particular lover. As his drugged mind conjured up his most cherished fantasies, he imagined himself being caressed and loved by the man who had assumed such a prominent role in his life. 

However, a deeper and more visceral part of him was fearful of encouraging such intimacy, afraid of the potential threat from the barely-hidden power and ruthlessness of his idol, against which he knew he had no defence. 

Therefore, when Stan’s caresses became intrusive and more painful, Blair forced himself to protest even though his body remained stubbornly unresponsive. 

“Mmmm, no Jmmmm....Nooo, please....!” 

Hearing the whispered plea, Stan sat back, frowning at the words and pondering what they implied. Although initially angered at being mistaken for another, he sneered cruelly as he murmured, “Well, well, baby Blair! So you really are involved with that cop! You’re Ellison’s bitch, aren’t you, sweetheart? And I’ll bet that he likes to play a little rough, doesn’t he? I ought to be offended, you know. But I’m not. I can’t wait to see just how much rough you can take when we start filming, baby. 

“And we’ll make it last a good long time, little one. I have just the co-stars in mind for you. By the time the final scene’s ready for shooting, you’ll be begging for death, you little slut! Count on it!” and he squeezed Blair’s unprotected sac hard enough to elicit a gurgling scream from his victim’s throat as tears spilled from beneath the closed lids.  


\----------------------  


Jim had heard enough of the one-sided exchange to not only send his desire for vengeance against Bartlett and his cronies into the stratosphere, but also to receive a shock like a solid blow to the solar plexus at the conclusion Bartlett had reached about his relationship with Blair. He was more disturbed than he might have expected to be at the thought that Blair was so obviously afraid of him, but he was aware that now wasn’t the time to be agonising over his behaviour patterns. His priority right now was to rescue Blair and shut down this sleazy operation. Then, and only then would he have the luxury of time to determine the nature of their relationship; if indeed they were actually destined to have one. 

Just then, a sharp rap on the window announced the arrival of Captain Sullivan, and Jim swiftly returned to the matter in hand. 

Climbing out of his jeep, he reported what he had overheard as he and Sullivan waited for the rest of the team to take up their positions. 

“So, Jim, what can you tell us? Any idea how many are inside?” 

Although it was obvious by his tone and expression that he was still very sceptical, at least the Captain was doing his best to give Jim’s information as much credibility as he was capable. Knowing that his boss couldn’t afford to act on false intelligence, Jim projected as much sincerity as he could into his words, willing the man to trust in him. 

“Well, sir, we know for a fact that the five who arrived in the Tahoe are still inside. No one has left the building since I’ve been here, for sure. 

“However, I’m certain that there are at least three others in there. I heard their heartbeats, sir,” and he fixed Sullivan with a confident gaze. 

Pursing his lips, Sullivan frowned at his detective, knowing he had to make a leap of faith if he were to act on Ellison’s words. Hoping he wasn’t about to make a huge mistake, he nodded briskly, saying, “OK Jim. So we’re looking at at least eight people inside. Any idea about where they are and what they’re doing?” 

Although relieved at Sullivan’s apparent acceptance, Jim knew he had to be completely up front when he continued, so he held nothing back. 

“Well, sir, that’s when it gets a little more complicated. See, without someone to ground me, I can’t concentrate as much as I should be able to; especially as I think the actual studio itself has been sound-proofed at least well enough for normal hearing ranges. I wasn’t able to make out too much, but Bartlett’s men have been doing a lot of shifting stuff around, so they’re probably working on the sets or something. Dade and his goons having been moving around between the front of the building and the studio, probably checking it out – maybe he’s got to report back to his boss? Whatever.” His face reflected a cold rage as he continued. 

“Bartlett’s got Sandburg in the back. I could hear enough to know that whatever he’s doing to Blair, it’s not good. But hopefully he doesn’t intend to damage him too much just yet. The bastard’s got plans for that later!” he finished with a snarl of pure hatred. 

Gripping Jim’s shoulder in a brief gesture of support and comfort, Sullivan murmured, “OK, Jim. Let’s get this show on the road. As soon as you provided the location, I had the blueprints of the building pulled up online and printed off. 

“As you no doubt already know, there’re only the two entrances – via the front office, and through the loading bay at back. No windows except those at front, and a skylight above the loading bay. The studio has no natural light, and occupies what would normally have been a large storage area. 

“I’ve sent most of the SWAT team to cover the rear, and set a sniper to cover the roof in case someone tries to get out through the skylight. They’ll go in on your signal, Jim. You, Mancini and Fellowes will take the front with three of the tactical guys, but it’ll have to be fast, and I’ll be relying on you to locate and get Sandburg out before those bastards can hurt him anymore,” and he glanced meaningfully at Jim’s ear. 

Nodding in grim understanding, Jim replied, “You got it, sir!” 

Sullivan gave him a satisfied nod in return, noting with approval Jim’s totally focussed gaze, and the controlled readiness in his powerful frame. He looked every inch the covert ops soldier he had once been, and the Captain had to believe that it was enough. 

Speaking into his communications mic, he snapped, “OK, guys. I want everyone suited up and in position, ready to go on my command....”  


\--------------------------  


Although it felt like an interminable wait to Jim, who was almost vibrating with the need to spring into action, it was actually only a matter of minutes later when Sullivan gave the go-ahead for the take-down to get underway. 

Having surreptitiously cordoned off the area immediately around the block in which the unit was located, Sullivan was confident that no hapless bystanders could get caught up in the action. With units manned by uniformed officers blocking all the approach roads, he signalled to Jim and his team to begin their stealthy approach from the windowless side of the building. 

Ducking below the level of the front windows, the group moved up to gather silently at the office door. Pinching his forearm hard as a distraction, Jim carefully extended his hearing and immediately picked up two heartbeats from within the office itself. He could also make out two more in the loading bay area, but the other four were inside the studio, and hence somewhat muffled. 

Despite the increased level of difficulty, however, Jim was still able to distinguish Blair’s heart, which was beating erratically, and which Jim surmised was most likely due to a combination of the drugs in his system, fear and pain. He was pretty certain that the other presence near Sandburg would be Bartlett, so after he had relayed his information quickly and quietly to the SWAT team at the rear of the building, he indicated to his own team that they go in three. Receiving affirmative nods all round, he held up three fingers, and the countdown began. 

On three, the unit was attacked from both entrances, with Jim barrelling in through the front door, keeping low as Mancini went in high. Swiftly moving inside to allow the rest of their team access, they covered the two men in the office, who turned out to be Dade and one of his goons. 

Although taken completely by surprise, Dade calmly raised his hands in surrender, coolly confident that his connections would soon deal with the inconvenience of an arrest. 

On the other hand, the hired muscle reacted purely on instinct, and drew his weapon despite the command to freeze. Jim had no option but to take the shot and the thug yelped in pain as the bullet hit him high in the right shoulder, causing him to drop his gun and grimace as he clutched his freely-bleeding wound. 

Leaving Fellowes and one of the tactical officers to search and secure the prisoners, the rest of the team moved carefully into the storage area. They hoped that the studio’s sound-proofing would have deadened the sound of Jim’s shot, and also the two others that had occurred almost simultaneously from the loading bay, where it seemed that the SWAT team had encountered some little resistance. 

The concealed door to the studio was easily discernible to Jim’s enhanced vision, and he pushed it open with care to glance around inside. 

Two men, plainly oblivious to the mayhem outside, were setting up the lighting equipment for a set laid out like a cross between a brothel and a torture chamber, and Jim was sickened to think that this was undoubtedly intended for Blair’s one and only ‘acting’ debut. 

Again taken by surprise, the two men literally dropped what they were doing and raised their hands, one of them babbling, “Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot! We give up, OK?” 

With little more than a disgusted glance in their direction, Jim indicated that the remaining two tactical officers take charge of cuffing them while he and Mancini moved quickly to the door to the Green Room. Cracking it open, the detectives took in the scene before them, swiftly cataloguing the naked and restrained Sandburg, whose pale skin already bore the marks and bruises caused by the man leaning over him. Blissfully unaware of his outraged audience, Bartlett was grinning lecherously as he reached over his captive, pinching the young man’s nipples as he writhed in pain. 

In two strides Jim was across the room, and he slammed the side of Bartlett’s head with an open-handed slap, hard enough to knock the man sideways and down on his knees. 

“Get your hands off him, you sick bastard! Just give me an excuse to shoot your sorry ass--!” 

“S’OK Jim!” Mancini interjected urgently, knowing how close his friend was to gunning the creep down without mercy. 

“I know how you feel, man, but Blair needs you! Look after him, Jim, and I’ll take care of the scumbag.” 

Breathing heavily, Jim took a moment to get himself back under control, then nodded once, and with a final scorching glare at the trembling Bartlett, he turned his full attention onto the figure on the pallet. 

Peripherally aware that Mancini was dragging his captive out of the room, and that the mopping up operation was underway, Jim knew he had to get Blair out of the building as soon as possible before the search of the premises began in earnest. He could hear Sullivan’s voice coming from within the studio, barking out orders, and also the arrival of the ambulances and EMTs to take care of the injured. 

The last thing Jim wanted was for anyone else to witness Blair’s condition, knowing full well that once he had regained full consciousness the young man would undoubtedly be humiliated enough by his capture without having been gawped at in his present state. Looking around for something with which to cover Blair’s nakedness, Jim grabbed a large throw from a pile in the corner of the small room, and spread it carefully over the smaller body, tucking it in around the now shivering form. He then turned his attention to the restraints, which consisted of heavy leather cuffs attached to the corners of the pallet by short lengths of chain. Working quickly, Jim unbuckled them and lowered Blair’s arms to his sides, where they were tucked in beneath the throw. 

Throughout his ministrations, Blair’s eyes remained closed, but soft moans and disjointed words were evidence that he was slowly waking up, and Jim’s jaw clenched as he picked out the almost sub-vocal pleas for mercy, because his name was mentioned more than once in connection with the frightened words. 

His thoughts on the subject were interrupted, however, by the entrance of a paramedic. Although unwilling to let Blair out of his sight, Jim moved aside to allow the other man check his patient’s vitals and prepare him for transport, determined to travel to hospital with Sandburg. He needed to reassure himself that Blair was really going to be all right, and besides, someone needed to take his statement and who better than Ellison? 

Climbing into the ambulance after Blair had been loaded; Jim ignored the protestations of the EMTs and seated himself beside the gurney. Gripping one of Blair’s hands, Jim concentrated on the young man, and failed to notice the angry eyes which followed the ambulance’s progress as it left the scene. 

From his position in one of the units acting as road blocks, Officer Manny Ignacio tracked the departing vehicle, the need for revenge reflected in his frowning glare. 

Maria would have to find another employer now, maybe even leave the city, because of that little hippy punk’s involvement with Ellison.  


\-----------------------  


**Later that night, Cascade General Hospital:**  


Sitting beside Blair’s hospital bed, Jim shifted his long legs as he tried vainly to get comfortable in the hard plastic chair. Blair was sleeping peacefully at last, enjoying a more natural rest now the drugs were working out of his system, but it had been a different matter on arrival at the ER. As he had been wheeled into an examination cubicle, Blair had suddenly awoken, his eyes wide and startled like a deer in the headlights; disorientated and panicked until Jim’s words and presence got through to him. 

Clutching fiercely at Jim’s hand, his eyes locked on Jim’s as he sought reassurance that he was no longer in the studio. 

“J J Jimmm? Wh wh where am I? Where where’s Stan? Don’t let him kill, me, man, p p p please!” 

Grateful that the young man didn’t seem to be scared of him at the moment, Jim smiled reassuringly down at the worried face. “It’s OK, Chief. Bartlett’s not going anywhere for a long time if everything goes to plan. You did good, kiddo, even if it didn’t go down as easily as it should have. 

“You’ve really got to learn to contain your impulsiveness if you want to stay out of trouble, Junior,” and his expression softened as Blair’s face took on a guilty cast. 

“I’m sorry, Jim,” he whispered. “I didn’t think....” then he paled again as he murmured, “Oh, man, I don’t feel so good,” before turning his head to throw up in the emesis bowl the attending nurse grabbed off the trolley. 

As Jim stepped back, a harried-looking doctor arrived, quickly summing up the situation as he barked, “You’ll have to leave now, Detective. I need to check this patient...” and then he ignored Ellison completely as Blair began to seize. 

Quickly stepping back, Jim found his arm grasped by Captain Sullivan, who had come looking for him, needing to check on both Sandburg’s condition, and how his detective was bearing up. 

“Come on, Jim. Give them some room to work. We’ll wait out here until we know what’s happening, OK?” and he tugged insistently at the reluctant and very concerned man. 

Several nerve-wracking minutes later, Blair was stabilised and wheeled out of the cubicle, to be admitted to a private room. Although the doctor had refused to give the waiting men any medical details in deference to patient confidentiality, he told them that he was admitting Blair for observation at least overnight, until he could be sure that all drugs were out of his system and to monitor his reactions. On being informed that Blair was a material witness to a crime, he reluctantly capitulated to Captain Sullivan’s insistence that Jim stay with his patient when he was settled in his room, much to Jim’s relief. 

Taking his leave under the proviso that Jim keep him up to date on Sandburg’s progress, Sullivan returned to the PD to continue overseeing the follow-up to the operation, and left Jim to take his place beside Blair’s bed, where he had remained ever since, with the exception of making a swift coffee run and a bathroom break. 

As Blair was presently sleeping peacefully, Jim took the opportunity of studying the serene face, and was struck anew both at Blair’s beauty, and his youthfulness despite the heavy growth of beard. Once again he was minded to question the rightness of his reasons for wanting to pursue a relationship. On the face of it, they couldn’t be more dissimilar, both physically and in character. Blair was young, smart and undoubtedly destined for great things in the academic world. But he was also personable, passionate and deeply committed to doing his bit for society and for the planet, at whatever cost to himself. 

Sure, he wasn’t perfect. He was impulsive, out-spoken on occasion, and volatile, and far too easily influenced by manipulative individuals in Jim’s opinion. 

And he was too honest a person to duck out of what he perceived to be his duty, even if said duty involved guiding a hard-assed and bad-tempered cop-cum-Sentinel. 

Feeling like a heel both for his appalling behaviour so far towards the undeserving student, and for his selfishness in wanting to tie the young man to him, Jim decided he needed a break from all this self-analysis and recrimination, and settled down as best he could to grab a few hours’ sleep.  


\---------------------  


**Following morning, Blair’s room, Cascade General Hospital:**  


In the early hours of the morning, Jim awoke to a cramp in his calf, having finally managed to snatch a short nap in the same unforgiving chair he’d been forced to use all night. Cursing softly, he stood carefully, flexing the offending limb and trying to loosen up other muscles stiffened by forced inactivity. At least Blair was now sleeping peacefully again, having passed a restless night disturbed by drug-induced nightmares which had decreased in frequency as the poison left his system. 

Although Jim was fairly certain he probably figured in more than one of Blair’s dreams, and not necessarily in a good way, he was gratified that his presence had nevertheless seemed to calm the younger man as he held Blair’s hand, soothing the agitated muttering and thrashing with a gentle touch and quiet words. 

He was just considering making another coffee run when a nurse came in to check Blair’s vitals. Smiling at Jim, she said, “Good morning, Detective. I hope you managed to grab a bit of sleep, but I have to say I’m sure Mr Sandburg will appreciate your staying with him. But I should tell you that your Captain has just arrived, and he’d like a word with you. There’s fresh coffee at the nurses’ station if you’d like to get a cup...” and she busied herself with Blair’s chart as Jim murmured his thanks and left the room. 

He found Sullivan already sampling a cup of the delicious-smelling brew, and he nodded a greeting as he reached gratefully for his own cup which the Captain had poured for him. 

“Jeez, Jim, you look like shit!” Sullivan exclaimed not unsympathetically as he took Jim’s arm. “Did you manage to get any sleep?” and he steered Jim over to two reasonably comfortable chairs in the small waiting room off the corridor. 

Grinning ruefully, Jim replied, “Not much, I’m afraid. When Blair wasn’t having nightmares, that damned chair was digging into me in all the wrong places. I’m sure they’re designed specifically to ensure that visitors don’t stay too long! But I’m sure you didn’t come here this early just to gloat, Captain. Is there something wrong?” 

He frowned as Sullivan’s expression sobered considerably, and felt his muscles tense as if in anticipation of a blow. 

“Yeah, I’m afraid so, Jim. At least for young Sandburg. Kid doesn’t seem to be able to catch a break – or at least, not since he agreed to work with us. But first can you give me a run-down on his condition? It could well be relevant, believe me,” he added earnestly when Jim looked likely to protest. 

Frown deepening at Sullivan’s words, Jim controlled the urge to demand an immediate explanation only with difficulty, but he knew that the Captain wasn’t stalling for the fun of it. Curbing his impatience, he replied, “I can only tell you what I’ve gathered from the nurses, and what my own experience as an army medic tells me. I’ve used my senses to monitor him also,” he added somewhat sheepishly, “Because the doctor still refuses to go into any detail since I’m not listed as Blair’s next of kin. 

“Anyhow, judging by Blair’s behaviour patterns over the course of the night, I’d say that the drugs are pretty well cleared from his system now, and I wouldn’t be surprised if the doc discharges him later today. As far as his treatment by Bartlett is concerned, I think the injuries are minor, if deliberately painful, because that bastard was keeping the really bad stuff for the camera. It’s Blair’s state of mind that I’m most concerned about, sir. I don’t think he should be alone.” 

As Jim spoke, Sullivan’s expression grew more concerned as he absorbed the information. 

Meeting Jim’s questioning gaze, he asked, “Do you know who is Sandburg’s emergency contact by any chance, Jim?” to which Jim replied pensively, 

“Well, I have to admit I called Rainier’s personnel department last night when the doctor wouldn’t give me any information. Apparently Blair’s only listed contact is his mother Naomi. And unofficially the person I spoke to described her as ‘NFA’.” 

At Sullivan’s puzzled look, he offered his boss a sardonic half-smirk as he explained. “In this instance it means ‘No Fixed Abode’. It seems the lady travels constantly and is almost impossible to contact. God only knows when Blair saw her last.” 

“Well, that makes things difficult,” mused Sullivan. “Because here’s the thing. Sandburg’s warehouse burned down last night. It could be arson, or it might have simply been an accident caused by some homeless person trying to keep warm. We’ll know more once the investigators have been over the scene. So far there’s no report of any bodies found. 

“But in the meantime, there’s nothing left of Blair’s living space. Everything’s gone. Either burnt to a crisp or ruined by water-damage. So he has nowhere to go when he is released, poor kid!” 

“Oh shit! That’s too bad! I don’t see how things could get much worse for him,” Jim sighed, desperately upset on Blair’s behalf. Then, squaring his shoulders, he met Sullivan’s sympathetic gaze again as he said, “OK, Sir. I’ll tell him, and I’ll get his statement also since I’m here. 

“And then I’ll help him deal with this situation if he’ll let me,” he finished determinedly. 

“Thanks, Jim. I hoped you’d say that,” Sullivan replied. “I think under the circumstances you’re the best person to give him the bad news, because it’s pretty obvious he worships you. You’ll probably be needing this,” and he handed over a small tape recorder. 

“I’m not sure about that,” Jim demurred with a grimace, “But I’ll do it anyway. I’ll get back to you as soon as I have something for you.” 

Patting Jim’s shoulder supportively, Sullivan said, “Thanks, Jim. And good luck. Give Sandburg my regards, and tell him I sincerely regret everything he’s been through so far. 

“Trouble is, there’s likely to be a lot more before this case is finally wound up,” and he shook his head dispiritedly as he turned to go, raising a hand in farewell as he strode off down the corridor, leaving a very disturbed Ellison watching his departing back. 

With a heavy sigh, Jim drained the rest of his coffee and threw the paper cup into the trash before making a quick run to the bathroom to freshen up as best he could. Then, knowing he couldn’t put it off any longer, he returned to Blair’s room to wait for the young man to wake up. 

As he sat watching over the sleeping figure, he thought how vulnerable Blair looked, and wondered how on Earth he was going to break the news that the poor kid was now homeless. He was surely going to be devastated, on top of everything else that had happened to him recently, but a small part of Jim selfishly embraced the opportunity to make his offer for Blair to come and stay with him at the loft. He decided that, if Blair was willing, he would offer him a room for as long as he needed it, and use the time to work on convincing Blair that he believed they did have a future together. 

Sure, there was a lot to hash out between them, which wouldn’t be helped by the effects of the latest attack on Blair’s already low self-esteem, but Jim knew that for once he was prepared to put himself out to try and support someone other than himself. Someone who he was sure was meant to be with him. 

But first he had to convince Blair of his genuine desire to help, because although his senses told him that Blair hadn’t actually been raped, he had certainly been sexually assaulted, which would have just as much detrimental effect on his mental state. 

Just then, fluttering eyelids and gradual changes in heart rate and breathing patterns warned Jim that Blair was on the point of waking up. Leaning forward, he stroked some wayward curls away from Blair’s forehead and grinned as two sleepy blue eyes blinked drowsily open. Squinting myopically for a few moments, Blair took a while to focus, then licking dry lips he whispered in a rusty voice, “Jim, man, that you? ‘M I in hospital?” 

At Jim’s wry smile and nod of affirmation, he frowned, obviously trying to recall the events which landed him here. Jim waited patiently while Blair concentrated, busying himself with pouring a glass of cool water from the pitcher on the nightstand, and adding a straw. Tacitly offering the drink, he was gratified when Blair nodded eagerly, and shifted slightly as Jim raised the head of the bed a little. 

Placing the straw between the chapped lips, Jim waited while Blair took several long sips, grateful for the cool liquid easing down his parched throat. 

When he had had enough, he released the straw and sank back into the pillows, eyes considerably more alert as he gazed at his visitor. 

“Um, Jim, man, have you been here all night? I mean, I don’t want to offend you, but you look pretty rough there?” 

When Jim nodded again and grinned, he offered a shy smile in return, then suddenly his face fell and his eyes filled with unwanted tears as the circumstances surrounding his current situation hit him hard, and his humiliation burgeoned. 

“Oh, man, I’m so sorry. I really messed things up, didn’t I? You’re probably here to take my statement aren’t you? I’m sorry. B But I really appreciate you staying, man...” and he swallowed hard against the sob trying to escape his throat. 

Although slightly hurt at Blair’s assumption that Jim was only here out of duty, Jim replied gently, his smile nothing but warm and caring. 

“Don’t beat yourself up, kiddo. You’re going to be a bit emotional after everything that happened to you, so cut yourself some slack. 

“But before we get to your statement, Chief, I’m afraid I have something else to tell you first. I wish I could make it easier for you, but I might as well just come out and say it. I’m really sorry, Blair, but last night there was a fire at your warehouse. It was completely wrecked, kiddo. Your stuff is all gone. I’m so sorry...” and he tailed off, waiting somewhat worriedly for Blair’s reaction to his news. 

Watching the stunned and horrified expression sweep across the mobile features, Jim wished he could have postponed his news, but he knew it was impossible, since as soon as Blair was discharged, probably later today, they would have to tackle the question of where he was to go. 

Eventually, Blair swallowed hard, and returned his gaze to Jim, and his words weren’t at all what the big cop expected to hear. In a quiet, almost puzzled tone, Blair murmured, “I thought it was a dream. I mean, after they drugged me, everything was muffled and confused. Lots of disjointed flashes and stuff. So much freaky weird shit.... But I thought I heard Stan telling someone to ‘destroy Sandburg’s rat hole’. But I can’t be sure, man. I mean, I was so confused, and most of the time I wasn’t really conscious. But even if I didn’t dream it, I guess it wouldn’t be usable as evidence anyhow,” and he stared sadly at his clasped hands, trying to come to terms with the fact that he was now homeless. 

Leaning over, Jim covered Blair’s hands with one of his own, and when Blair raised sad eyes to meet his, he murmured sincerely, “That’s true enough, I’m sorry to say, Chief, but I’ll do my best to follow it up. But even if I can prise some information out of our suspects, it won’t bring your stuff back. I’m so sorry, kiddo.” 

Blair nodded in understanding, then a thought occurred to him. 

“Jim, what happened to my car, man? Is it still parked outside Stan’s place at the Marina?” 

“No, Chief. I asked for it to be towed to the PD parking garage for safety. My jeep also because I travelled here in the ambulance with you.” 

Blair’s eyes lit up with hope at his reply, enthusiasm returning slightly as he explained. 

“That’s great, Jim! See, I keep my backpack and my ‘escape’ duffel in the trunk. My laptop’s in the pack, along with some important bits and pieces, and I have a couple changes of clothes in the duffel. And most of my books and papers are in my office at Rainier, so I do have some stuff left.” But his face fell again as he added, “But I’ve lost all the personal things. My photos. My guitar. Mom’s letters... 

“But it’s just stuff, isn’t it? It shouldn’t matter...” he continued bravely, but Jim could see he wasn’t convincing himself any more than he was convincing Jim. 

Then he shook himself decisively, impressing Jim with his courage as he said firmly, “Guess we should take my statement now, huh? What I can remember anyway. The part before they drugged me might be worth something, I guess?” 

“S’OK, Chief. Just tell me what you can and we’ll take it from there,” and Jim placed the recorder on the nightstand and turned it on.  


\-------------------  


Giving his statement wasn’t easy for Blair, and it wasn’t easy for Jim to hear either, but he had to admire Blair’s fortitude as he forced himself to recall as much as he could. 

He began with describing Davies’ visit to his office with the manipulated pornographic images and his reactions to seeing them and hearing the professor’s threats. 

“I’m so sorry, Jim, but I was so angry! I needed to confront Stan straight away to have it out with him. I mean, I know the whole idea was to get me deeper in with his schemes, but I was so frightened he’d release the pictures on campus, man. It would completely destroy my integrity as a teacher and doctoral candidate. 

“Anyhow, when I couldn’t contact you immediately, I decided to go to Stan’s place myself. It didn’t occur to me he’d have visitors, especially not criminal ones. I mean, it was so blatant!” 

As he described what happened on his arrival, he almost whispered, “That Dade guy. Man, I’ve never been so frightened in my life. I mean, I know it was the goons that were pushing me around, but his eyes....they were flat. Dead, like a shark. I knew I was gone, man,” and he paused for a moment, deep in his memories. 

Looking up again, he continued gamely, “After they drugged me, it all gets confused. I don’t really remember too much of what was said, except that bit about my warehouse – I think – and then flashes of being tied down...being hurt...Stan’s hands on me...maybe..?” and he tailed off again, consternation and pain reflected in his expression. 

“There wasn’t much of that though, Jim, which I guess I should be grateful for. And I don’t remember anything of being rescued or getting here, man. Sorry. I think that’s as much as I can tell you,” and he sat back again, exhausted physically and emotionally at the effort. 

Switching off the tape recorder, Jim forced himself to relax his tightly-clenched jaw muscles. It had been hard to listen to Blair’s faltering words without reacting angrily, and he needed all his self-control to respond calmly, knowing that Blair didn’t need the extra burden of his emotional input right now. 

However, a welcome diversion was offered by the entry of Blair’s doctor, who was coming to check on his patient prior to being discharged. Nodding a distracted greeting to Jim, the man smiled briefly at Blair, saying, “Well, Mr Sandburg, your last set of results is very encouraging. I think that we can safely say the drugs are pretty much out of your system, so you can be discharged as soon as you’ve completed the paperwork. Having said that, I have a prescription for antibiotic cream which you should use on the worst of your injuries where the skin is broken, and you should have someone stay with you for at least twenty four hours in case you have any relapses. Is there someone you can call?” 

Desperate to get out of hospital, Blair was quite prepared to ‘obfuscate’ in order to do so, so he avoided Jim’s eyes as he replied confidently, “No problem, Doctor. I’ll call my mom. Naomi’ll be there for me, for sure!” 

The doctor’s expression warned both men that he wasn’t convinced, especially as no one had had any success contacting the woman last night, but he surrendered to the inevitable. 

“OK, Mr Sandburg. If you’re sure, then I’ll go get the paperwork started for you. And you should consider getting some counselling also, young man. What happened to you was traumatic, and shouldn’t be ignored!” 

Blair blushed and nodded at his words, and the doctor had to be satisfied with that. Nodding again to Jim, he left the room, and Blair let out a huge sigh of relief. 

“Man, I thought he wasn’t going to let me go for a minute,” he murmured quietly. “I so don’t want to stay here, and I really need to get out and start looking for somewhere to stay...” and he was taken by surprise when Jim cut in. 

“Ah, well, as to that, Chief, I have a suggestion to make....”  


\-----------------------  


**Part 3: One Way or Another:**  


**Later that morning, the loft, 852 Prospect:**  


Opening the door to #307, Jim stood aside to let his silent companion enter first. 

“Well, here we are, Chief! Home sweet home!” and he cringed inwardly at the forced joviality in his voice. Luckily, Blair didn’t seem to have noticed it at all, so he continued, “I’ll show you your room in a minute, and give you the guided tour, OK?” Blair offered a small smile and stepped forward, but it didn’t need Sentinel sight to see the tension in his shoulders, although it would probably have taken enhanced hearing to pick up the thundering heartbeat. 

Although Blair had proposed getting a cab to the PD to pick up their cars, Jim had vetoed the suggestion, declaring that Blair shouldn’t be driving yet in his condition, but actually needing to ensure that Blair didn’t simply get into his vehicle and drive off to the gods knew where. He needed to get the younger man into his territory, because only then would he be satisfied that Blair was safe. 

During the short cab ride, both men had maintained their silence apart from exchanging a few generalities, wrapped up in their individual introspection. However, it was unlikely that the garrulous cab driver would have noted the somewhat strained atmosphere between his passengers. 

For Blair, who had been released wearing nothing but borrowed scrubs and paper slippers plus Jim’s leather jacket, offered freely by the big cop, he was feeling distinctly vulnerable and uncomfortable. Already shaky, he was having second thoughts about accepting Jim’s offer of a bed for the night. 

When Jim had first made the offer, his first instinct had been to turn it down, partly because he had always disliked being beholden to anyone he couldn’t easily repay, but mostly because of his exceptionally fragile mental state. Yes, he was sincerely grateful for the offer. Indeed, he had been very moved by Jim’s obvious honesty. But the fact remained that that his feelings towards the big cop were ambivalent to say the least and his discomfort was further exacerbated by the after-effects of the assault. 

But his own honesty and gentle nature wouldn’t allow him to throw the man’s generous offer back in his face, so now here he was. Grateful, yes, undoubtedly. Worried, most definitely. But also resolved to behave like an adult for however long he needed to. 

After all, he had already assured Jim that he would be ‘out of his hair’ within a week at the most. 

And if Jim had other ideas about that, he had no idea. For Jim was simply congratulating himself for getting over the first hurdle in persuading the skittish student to come home with him, setting himself the task of ensuring that Blair never wanted to move out again. 

Careful not to startle Blair, Jim placed a large, warm hand in the small of Blair’s back to usher him in a little further so he could shut the door behind them. Blair gazed around him, taking in the lofty ceilings and ultra-clean, Spartan decor. He snickered nervously as he murmured, “I can see why you weren’t impressed with my place, Big Guy! This is really something! And it looks like you have a great view of the harbour from the balcony. The Sentinel watching over his territory, huh?” 

Realising he was babbling, he shut up abruptly, hating the fact that he knew he was blushing again like a coy schoolgirl. 

“Sorry, man. I guess I talk too much, especially when I’m nervous. Take no notice, OK?” he ended on a pleading note. 

“Hey, s’OK, Sandburg. It’s understandable, Chief. You’ve already had too much to deal with, and this is just another unexpected situation. Cut yourself some slack, take a breath and take a load off while I try and find you something warmer to wear. Then I’ll show you around.” 

Jim helped him off with the jacket, which he hung up carefully on the hooks beside the door. Giving Blair a quick grin, he said, “Sit yourself down, Chief, and I’ll see what I can find.” 

As Blair looked on, he padded up the stairs to the upper floor bedroom, calling over his shoulder, “Won’t be long, Blair!” 

Completely bemused, Blair wandered over to the nearest loveseat, and perched on the edge, feeling shakier than he would have wanted to admit. True, he was much less together than he would have admitted to the doctor at Cascade General, simply because he had been so keen to leave the hospital. However, now his stomach was churning queasily with both the after-effects of the forced pumping and emesis as well as from his rattled nerves. 

Attempting to clear and calm his mind with a soothing mantra, he willed himself not to barf, because that really would complete his utter humiliation. 

A few minutes later, he jumped slightly as Jim’s hand landed on his shoulder. 

“Sorry, Chief. Wool gathering? Look. I’ve dug out one of my smaller sweaters which should do for now. I’ve also found a couple pairs of warm socks and some smallish boxers. I’m afraid none of my shoes or pants will fit you though,” and he held out the small pile of clothing for Blair to take. 

“Oh man, that’s so great! Thank you so much! I can easily make do until I can get hold of my duffel. 

“Um, where’s the bathroom, Jim?” 

“Down the hall there, Chief. Take your time, and I’ll put some fresh coffee on, OK?”  


\-----------------------  


A short while later Blair emerged from the bathroom feeling much better. He had taken the opportunity to freshen up, and with the extra clothing and over-sized sweater he felt warmer and much less vulnerable, at least for the present. 

“Coffee smells great, man!” he said, giving Jim a genuine smile. “It seems like forever since I had some of the good stuff!” 

“Plenty more where that came from, Chief, so feel free to help yourself while you’re here,” replied Jim, determined to keep the atmosphere as light-hearted as possible. 

“When we’re done, I’ll show you your room...” and he deliberately ignored the audible gulp and quick pit-a-pat of Blair’s heart at his words. 

By the time they’d finished their coffee; Blair had regained his equilibrium and followed Jim readily enough to the small curtained-off room under the stairs. 

“It’s not much, but the futon’s not bad to sleep on, and by the time I’ve shifted this junk down to the basement you should have enough room, OK?” 

“Um, it’s great, Jim, really. But you don’t need to move anything for me, man. I mean, I won’t be here long enough to need much space--” 

“No problem, Sandburg,” Jim interjected quickly. “I intended to move it anyhow, and this is the excuse I needed to get on with it! I’ll get you some linens and you can make the bed up...”  


\----------------------  


Much later that evening, Blair was having a hard time keeping his eyes open, but was strangely reluctant to go to bed. He was well aware that his exhaustion was a normal stress reaction to the events of the last 48 hours or so, but the reluctance stemmed from something far deeper and more disturbing. 

Because he was feeling incredibly vulnerable once again even though Jim had been nothing but hospitable, and was plainly making every effort to make his visitor feel at home. 

They had shared a pizza that Jim had ordered in, and Blair had surprised himself with how good his appetite had been under the circumstances, and it was true that physically he certainly seemed to be recovering remarkably quickly. However, he ruefully admitted that the resilience didn’t spread to his mental state, which still felt fragile and brittle. He knew Jim was also aware of that, and was doing his best to take it easy on Blair and not making him feel even more anxious and embarrassed. 

But the sad fact remained that he was still afraid. 

Part of him was simply afraid to retreat to that small room beneath the stairs with nothing but a curtain between him and Jim. He knew he was probably doing Jim a grave disservice, since the big man had made no untoward moves or hints at all, plainly trying to respect Blair’s feelings. 

But what if he changed his mind? What if he ran out of patience and succumbed to temptation during the night? Blair had no idea just how strong the primal urge to bond might be between Sentinel and Guide, if indeed it actually existed. The very idea terrified Blair even as a darker part of him was excited by the notion, relishing the hint of danger and the potential to acquire unique knowledge of a special individual. 

It was no good. If he was to get any chance of sleep at all that night he was either going to have to suck it up and brazen it out, or come clean and try to explain his feelings to Jim. And for the life of him he didn’t know how he’d feel if Jim reacted badly to his confession, or, worse still, laughed in his face. 

However, before he was forced to make his decision, he was rescued by Jim himself, who had more than a fair idea about what was going through his guest’s mind. The older man took it upon himself to get everything out in the open to clear the air between them for better or worse. _And when the hell did I get to be so understanding all of a sudden?_ Jim thought as he prepared to make his point. 

Catching Blair’s eye, he fixed the smaller man with a resolute determination as he sat down on the coffee table opposite where Blair perched anxiously on the sofa. Keeping his expression as sincere as possible in the face of Blair’s ‘deer-in-the-headlights’ look, he smiled gently as he began. 

“Look, Chief, it’s obvious that you’re pretty much dead on your feet, and you need to get to bed. But it’s also very obvious to me that there’s something preventing you from doing so. 

“Now I might be completely wrong here, but I’m thinking that you’re scared that I’m going to make a move on you during the night, huh?” 

At Blair’s deep blush of shame, rather than feeling anger at the implied distrust, he was grateful that he had read the situation correctly so that he could do something positive about it. 

“It’s OK, Chief. I’m not mad at you for doubting my intentions. After all, I haven’t given you that much reason to trust me, I guess. But I promise you I have no intention of jumping your bones, kiddo, even though the idea’s tempting enough. 

“When I made the offer to bunk here, it was as a friend and roomie for as long as you need. Yes, I’d like for you to stay, I don’t deny it. But I want it because you want it too, and not because you feel beholden to me in any way.” 

He could tell his little speech had had a considerable impact on Blair in his present emotional state, so he quickly rose to his feet with a reassuring grin. 

“Come on, Junior. Get yourself to bed before you fall over. I’ll see you in the morning...” and he patted Blair’s shoulder amicably before trotting lightly up the stairs to the master bedroom, leaving a bemused but greatly relieved Blair staring after him. 

Because Blair was absolutely positive that he could trust Jim to honour his promise.  


\----------------------  


**Following morning:**  


Both Jim and Blair looked a little frayed around the edges as they sat down to a breakfast of coffee, eggs and toast, hastily prepared by Jim. Blair had managed to get some sleep, but of a restless kind, troubled by nightmarish flashbacks and anxiety over his current situation. As for Jim, he had heard every moan and movement in the small bedroom below, but had forced himself to refrain from going downstairs much as he wanted to offer comfort to the frightened young man. He didn’t think that his presence would be appreciated just yet, as Blair might well suppose that Jim was up to no good in his distressed state. But he couldn’t simply turn over and go back to sleep, needing to monitor Blair’s condition, and finding to his great satisfaction that his senses automatically tuned in to the other man now. 

“I called Mike Sullivan while you were in the shower, Chief,” he said conversationally. “He’s asked Mancini and Fellowes to swing by to give us a ride to the PD. Once you’ve checked and signed your statement, you can pick up your car and come back here if you want, although Mike may ask you to listen in while we discuss the progress of the mopping-up operation.” 

“Um, that sounds good, Jim. It’ll be good to grab some clothes and shoes, although I really appreciate your lending me this stuff in the meantime. I don’t think I’d have liked to go to the PD just in paper slippers and scrubs. 

“By the way, I hope you don’t mind, but I used your phone to call a friend of mine. He’s a fellow TA, and he owes me a few favours, so I asked him to cover my classes for today. But I’ll need to go in to Rainier tomorrow to explain the situation. They’ll need to know where I’ll be staying.” 

“No problem, Chief, but I hope you’ll be giving this address for the foreseeable future. There’s no hurry trying to find another place, Junior. Just give yourself a bit of time to get yourself together, OK? 

“Besides, it’ll be a good opportunity for us to practice some of your ideas about how to refine the senses, won’t it?” and he fixed Blair with a hopeful look. 

Completely unable to resist the appeal on the handsome features, Blair grinned a little shyly and replied, “OK, Big Guy. But I promise I’ll keep looking around for a new place in the meantime. I know I wear out my welcome real soon. I guess I talk too much, and I’m not very tidy...” 

“As to that, well, we’ll see, OK? There’ll be a few house rules to learn, but I’m sure we’ll rub along all right. I can’t see any reason why you shouldn’t make a perfectly good roommate.” 

“Thanks, man. That’s good of you to say,” responded Blair with a slight blush of pleasure. “But I’m not sure about the ‘house rules’ thing, though, Big Guy...” he added with a genuinely cheeky grin which gladdened Jim’s heart to see. 

Chuckling, Jim rose to his feet to clear the table, and swatted Blair’s curls lightly in passing. “Rule numero uno, Chief. The Sentinel is always right!” at which Blair laughed outright, feeling better than he had in days. 

Just then, Jim stopped and cocked his head in a listening pose. “We’ve got company, Chief. Our ride’s here. I think Mancini’s coming up the stairs because I can smell his aftershave. Shake a leg, Sandburg, time to go.”  


\-------------------------  


Blair remained uncharacteristically silent during the ride to the PD, feeling awkward and out of place amongst the three cops. He sat back and did what he did best, simply observing the other men’s interactions and making himself as inconspicuous as possible. 

It wasn’t that the other cops were unfriendly, exactly. He knew it was his own insecurity that was causing his discomfort, and was grateful that Jim didn’t call him on it, leaving him alone to work on regaining what equilibrium he could while listening in to the conversation carrying on around him. Of course, his mismatched clothing and lack of shoes hardly improved his self-image, and he tried hard not to imagine what Mancini and Fellowes must think of him in the aftermath of the assault. Although Jim hadn’t said as much, Blair was uncomfortably aware that the others might have seen him naked and bound in Bartlett’s Green Room. So he concentrated instead on studying them as he would from an anthropologist’s point of view, fascinated by the contrast in the partners, who were obviously well in-tune with each other. 

Angelo Mancini’s Mediterranean ancestry was obvious in his dark eyed, film star good looks. He was dressed in the sort of ‘smart casual’ clothing that wouldn’t have looked out of place at a country club, and he had greeted Blair in a friendly enough fashion. However, he appeared to be exercising a rigid self-control, and was plainly an angry man. Blair thought that probably a good deal of his inner rage must be due to the brutal murder of his snitch, Dixie, and in all honesty Blair couldn’t blame him for that, having seen the horrific results of the attack on Dixie’s mutilated corpse. 

Quickly shutting down on that train of thought, he studied Barney Fellowes, who was a complete contrast to his partner. Much shorter, Fellowes was a wiry, scruffy individual, whose unkempt beard was too untidy to pass for ‘designer stubble’. His shaggy hair looked uncombed and greasy, and his clothes were nearly as disreputable as Blair’s present attire. However, he was a cheerful soul, plainly used to his partner’s dour temperament, and Blair imagined he would be an excellent undercover operator in the right circumstances. 

Both men accepted Blair’s presence unquestioningly as Jim’s new temporary guest, knowing what had happened to the young man’s warehouse, and if they thought there was more to the relationship than that, they kept their opinions to themselves in deference to Jim’s reputation for having a bad-ass attitude with a very short fuse. 

Blair’s ruminations were interrupted by their arrival in the PD’s underground parking lot, and he was relieved to see his old Corvair parked over by Jim’s jeep. Jumping out of the car, he trotted over to his own vehicle to reach under the rear wheel arch. As Jim and the other cops looked on in bemusement, he pulled out a magnetic key holder, which he waved at them with a grin. 

“I always keep a spare,” he called out, “Because I’m always losing stuff. I was just hoping that this hadn’t fallen off,” and he quickly unlocked the car and popped the trunk. Pulling out a battered duffel, he unzipped it to remove a pair of ratty sneakers into which he pushed his feet before shutting it back in the trunk. 

Trotting back over to his companions, he grinned sheepishly. “Sorry about that, guys. But I didn’t want to trail around in just socks. I look silly enough as it is....” 

Patting him on the shoulder, Jim said amicably, “No problem, Chief. Once you’re done here, you can get on back to the loft and change properly. But we’d best get a move on now, because Mike’ll be getting impatient, I’ve no doubt.”  


\------------------------  


Several hours later, a tired and dispirited Blair was still at the PD having been included in the team’s discussion, and not liking much of what he had heard. The good news was that the search team had uncovered plenty of material evidence in the form of DVDs of Bartlett’s most recent porn movie, and a large collection of erotic images ready for distribution. Even better was the information found on Bartlett’s PC, which he had failed to protect except with the most basic of passwords. Arrogantly certain that his underworld connections were strong enough to cover him under any circumstances; he had relied on a misplaced assumption of invulnerability and was now paying the price. The forensic computer techs had already pulled up a comprehensive database of ‘clientele’, and, as expected, it had contained a whole list of prominent public figures from across several states. Without a doubt, once the FBI got their teeth into the case, there would be a whole lot of shit hitting the fan. 

With all the evidence stacking up against him, as well as his literally being caught in the act assaulting Blair, Bartlett’s lawyers were going to have a hard time defending their application for bail, and for the time being, he was still cooling his heels in lock-up. It was a given that the mafia would cut him loose, so he was on his own and his future didn’t look promising. With the evidence of the snuff movies alone, he was potentially looking at the death penalty, but fear of reprisals guaranteed that he wasn’t going to offer evidence against his mob connections. He knew well enough what Dade and his like were capable of, and he had no doubt about his fate if he was to betray them. Even the suggestion that he could enter the Witness Protection programme didn’t convince him it was worth the pain once they tracked him down. Because he was quite certain that, given time, he would be found, and then he would be dead meat. 

The real down-side of this, however, was that Dade had already walked. His high-priced lawyer had already posted bail on the grounds that the evidence against him and, indeed, any alleged connection to Stephan’s organisation was based on hearsay and therefore purely conjectural in legal terms. Even Blair’s testimony was worthless, because although Dade had scared him, the threat implicit in his demeanour, he had made no actual physical assault of any kind on the student. The whole team were certain that Dade had been responsible for Dixie’s murder, but again they had no tangible proof, and no reason for a court to justify the demand for a DNA sample. Mike Sullivan muttered gloomily that it was possible that the hired muscle might roll over on him, but it wasn’t that likely. They would have been well-compensated for their loyalty, and no doubt would be enjoying a healthy financial bonus once they had served their time. 

Eventually the meeting wound down, and Jim took Blair aside. Resting his hands on Blair’s shoulders, he gazed enquiringly into the smaller man’s eyes for a long moment before saying, “You OK, Chief? I know you were probably hoping for more. Shit, we all were! But at least it looks like Bartlett’s going down, so you can give yourself some credit for your part in that. You’ve undoubtedly helped save a few gullible and vulnerable people from falling into that bastard’s clutches, even though there’s plenty more like him still around. 

“Look, why don’t you get back to the loft and relax a bit? You can have my keys, and I’ll see you this evening, OK? If you need it, the laundry’s in the basement, and you can use my broadband connection if you want to get some work done. Just go and take a load off, Junior.” 

After a moment, Blair offered a small smile as he replied, “Thanks, Jim. It’s very good of you. I really appreciate your generosity, man, and I think I need a bit of time on my own to process. I mean, I’m glad it looks like Stan’s finished, but it’s hard to accept that Dade won’t be prosecuted. Unless the FBI manages to link him to the bigger scheme, I guess. No wonder Mancini’s so angry, man. On the face of it, his friend Dixie died for nothing.” 

“Stop looking so guilty, Junior! Don’t take it to heart. I know you’re a caring soul, but you can’t save the world all by yourself. But perhaps we can have a good go together, huh?” and Jim grinned down at the earnest, upturned face. 

Finally offering a genuine smile, Blair said, “Thanks, Jim. You said just what I needed to hear. I’ll get going now, then, and get some laundry done. I’ll do yours also if you like? Then I’ll see what I can rustle up for dinner if that’s OK with you? I can cook, believe it or not...” 

“Then I’ll look forward to what you put together, Chief. Drive safe, and see you later,” and Jim pressed the loft keys into Blair’s hand before seeing the smaller man into the elevator. 

It was a shame that their tentative but growing feelings of camaraderie and security were soon to be disrupted once again.  


\--------------------------  


Later that evening, a frowning Jim approached the loft door, not looking forwards at all to what he had to tell Blair. He could already scent something that smelt pretty darn tasty, but despite having eaten very little all day since breakfast, he had little appetite. Stopping beside the door, he listened harder, and heard Blair singing softly along to a light rock track on the radio, and was impressed by the young man’s voice. Giving himself a few moments more to enjoy the entertainment, eventually he knew he had to enter, and he was certain that Blair wouldn’t feel much like singing after he had heard Jim’s news. 

Since he had given Blair his keys, and the student had prudently locked the door, he tapped lightly, and nodded in approval when he saw Blair use the peep hole before unlocking the door and unhooking the chain. 

“Hey, Jim! You’re just in time, man. I’ve put together a casserole which I think you’ll like, and it’ll be ready in a few. I mean, if you want a shower or something first?” 

Jim couldn’t help but smile at the vision before him. Blair had changed into some of his surviving clothes and looked 100% more relaxed. He offered Jim a smile in response, then raised a quizzical eyebrow at Jim’s continuing regard. 

“Um, do I have something stuck in my teeth, man? I mean, you’re looking at me as if there’s something wrong...?” 

“No, nothing wrong, Junior. I was just thinking how much better you look now you’ve had a chance to change and relax a little. More like yourself, you know? 

“And I will take the opportunity to have a quick shower before dinner,” he continued, realising he wanted to put off their serious discussion until after they had eaten. Sure, it might be cowardly of him, but he didn’t see why Blair couldn’t enjoy his meal first.  


\------------------------  


An hour or so later, with the meal finished and clean up done, Jim snagged a couple of bottles of beer from the refrigerator, and indicated that Blair join him on the sofa. He had deliberately kept their conversation light and inconsequential during dinner, and forced himself to eat more than he really wanted to, because the casserole was every bit as tasty as he thought it would be, and he didn’t want to hurt Blair’s feelings. 

However, it now lay like a lump of concrete in his stomach, and he knew he couldn’t put off delivering his information any longer. 

Once Blair was seated at the other end of the sofa, hitching around so he could see Jim properly, Jim began. 

“Thanks for the dinner, Chief. It was very good. You definitely can cook all right, so you can have the job as often as you’d like it.” Then his friendly grin faded and his expression hardened, and Blair began to look concerned. 

“I can hear a big ‘but’ coming up, Jim,” he said a little anxiously. “Have I done something wrong? All of a sudden you’re looking like the bearer of bad tidings....” and he trailed off, licking his lips nervously. 

Dragging his attention away from that lush mouth, Jim gave himself a mental shake and continued. 

“I’m sorry, Chief. No, you haven’t done anything wrong. And I meant what I said about dinner. But there’s something we have to talk about regarding the case, and you’re not going to like it. Hell, _I_ don’t like it!” and he looked over at the younger man, who was now listening intently, a serious expression on the lovely features. 

“Go ahead please, Jim,” he whispered. “Get it out in the open. Bartlett’s going to walk, isn’t he?” 

“No! No, he’s not, Chief. Far from it, I promise. There’s too much evidence against him and as we thought, he’s way too frightened of reprisals to finger his backers. And unfortunately, so far it looks like they’ve covered their tracks too well for any sums of money to be traced directly back to them. Whoever the head honcho’s money man is, he’s very good, so the Fed’s forensic specialists will have their work cut out. 

“No, the thing is, that when I interviewed him again with Angelo, all he would keep saying was that he wasn’t going down alone. He wants revenge, Chief. He wants to take down Professor Davies and you. He says you both betrayed him in different ways, so he’s going to ruin the pair of you. He told us everything about Davies’ involvement in his studio. How he pushed likely candidates into Bartlett’s web, and how he was happy to take a cut from the profits when models were successfully signed up for fashion houses and the like. And even bigger cuts if they moved on to ‘greater things’, like hard-core porn shots and movies. When I left, Mancini and Fellowes were talking about picking Davies up for questioning in the morning. I think we can safely say the man’s reputation is about to be destroyed even if he escapes charges. 

“But way more worrying is what he said about you, Chief. He’s adamant that you knew what you were getting into, and he was only taking advantage of your freely offered talents. And as for the assault, he’s saying that you were completely up for it. You’ve gotten to like the idea of rough sex, and you willingly allowed yourself to be drugged so you could enjoy it more. Sort of OTT method acting. Of course he denies that you were going to be killed. He swears that you were just getting psyched up for your filming debut. Which incidentally he was quite happy to acknowledge as seriously pornographic. 

“He also said that you had been forced into setting him up by me, Chief. He’s claiming that he realises now that we have some sort of co-dependent relationship, and that I’m using physical force and threats to bully you into toeing the line. 

“And the worst part of it is that up to a point he’s correct. Because of our demands, and your part in the set-up, you did lead him on. And I’m worried that when his defence attorney hears the recordings I made of your sessions with Bartlett, he could be talking entrapment. At the very least he’s going to work at blackening your character in the eyes of the jury so your contribution as a prosecution witness will be compromised. 

“I’m so sorry, Blair. There was always a possibility that this could rebound on you, but I didn’t give the threat enough credence. First I just wanted to get the case closed using whatever means available, and then when I started getting to know you better, I was arrogant enough to think I could protect you anyway. And I let you down,” and he hung his head for a moment in shame. 

As he had been speaking, Blair’s expressive face had reflected his rapidly changing emotions, from astonishment, shock and fear through to guilt. When Jim looked up again to meet his eyes, he swallowed hard before replying in a hoarse whisper. 

“Oh, man! Gods, Jim, what if his accusations reach the Chancellor’s office? I could be out of a job, man, like Davies will surely be. What have I done?” and he stared off for a long moment while the implications sank in. However, eventually he turned back to face Jim again, his face now wearing an expression of resignation tinged with sympathy as he spoke again. 

“It’s not your fault, Jim. I don’t blame you. I did this to myself, man. Yeah, I know you pushed me into taking part in your sting, but I could have said no. And it was all my fault that I went off at half-cock after I saw those manips. I should never have walked into Stan’s apartment without backup. I was stupid. 

“Look, I’m going to go into Rainier tomorrow as normal. I have a class to teach, and I need to go see administration about my new address. I can’t let this stop me doing my job for however long I get to keep it, man. And for what it’s worth, I guess I’m not sorry I got involved, Jim. Stan was a bastard, and I’m glad he’s going down.” 

Reaching over to squeeze Blair’s knee in support, Jim was filled with admiration at Sandburg’s response. 

“Thanks, Chief. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but you’re a good person. And a brave one. Let’s just hope that he can’t follow through with his threats, huh? I guess a lot will depend on what his defence attorney advises him to do, and whether he’ll be persuaded to keep quiet. At least forewarned is forearmed, as they say, so if you hear any whispers, we can try to nip them in the bud. And now, I don’t know about you, but I could use an early night. We’ve both got an early start in the morning...”  


\----------------------  


**Part 4: Retribution:**  


**Following morning: Blair.**  


Blair pulled into a slot in the parking lot nearest to Hargrove Hall and put his Corvair into park. However, rather than jumping out and running up the steps with his usual energy and bounce, this morning he looked even worse if anything than yesterday. Leaning his head back against the headrest, he took a few moments to gather his willpower to do what he had told Jim he was going to do – carry on as near to normal as he could in the hope that the most recent potential crisis passed him by. 

He had endured another desperately disturbed night, tossing and turning, his anxiety about Bartlett’s threats and the likelihood of his having to appear in court weighing on his mind. He hoped he hadn’t kept Jim awake, and had tried hard to keep his movements quiet, but judging by the state of the bigger man when they had shared a virtually silent breakfast, he hadn’t succeeded very well. _At this rate_ he thought despondently _I won’t have to worry about whether I choose to stay in the loft or not. Jim’ll get fed up with me and kick me out anyway._

Heaving a sigh, he sat up and climbed out of the car, reaching in for his ever-present backpack before locking up the vehicle and dragging his unwilling feet up the steps and into the building. As he made his way down to his tiny basement office, he did his best to answer cheerfully to the many greetings he received on his way, but on reaching his sanctuary, he closed the door behind him with another sigh and allowed the manufactured smile to slip from his face. 

However, it wasn’t in his nature to stay downcast for long, so he stiffened his resolve and chastised himself roundly for his self-pity, seating himself behind his desk and pulling a pile of blue books towards him, intending to get some marking and grading done before leaving to teach his class. 

Concentrating single-mindedly on his task, Blair wasn’t aware of the frenzied activity going on in another part of the campus over by the Fine Arts building where a tragedy had taken place. In fact, he remained ignorant of the situation until a knock on his door announced the arrival of an unexpected visitor in the form of a very worried and angry-looking Jim Ellison. 

“I’ve got some bad news, Chief. I think you’d better come with me...”  


\-------------------  


**Earlier that morning:**  


The janitor at the Fine Arts building yawned widely as he made his rounds, checking the upper offices where the tenured professors held court. He well knew that most of the ‘artistic’ academics of his acquaintance rarely came in early, but on occasion it was known to happen. As a conscientious man, he thought it prudent to make sure all the offices had been cleaned satisfactorily. As he went from one room to another, he was thinking about his breakfast, and indulging in a good cup of coffee from the new machine he had installed in his tiny office in the bowels of the building. However, he was shocked to the core, all such mundane thoughts instantly dismissed at the sight that met his eyes in the largest and best appointed of the offices. Feet dangling off the ground, an upturned chair on the floor beneath him, Professor Davies hung from the overhead light fitting, face grotesquely distorted in death, and his limp body twisting slightly as the janitor looked on aghast. 

His pass key dropping from his suddenly nerveless hand, the janitor ran towards the dangling body, but was momentarily at a loss as to what to do next. He was sure that the police wouldn’t appreciate any effort on his part to get the body down, since there was no sign of life at all, so he moved quickly to the desk and grabbed the phone, dialling 911. Gasping out his information to the operator, he then called Rainier’s Head of Security, and filled him in on the situation also. Report made, he moved back outside, pulling the door to behind him, intending to stay around to keep any early-bird students or unsuspecting visitors from entering.  


\-----------------------  


As luck would have it, when the call went out from Dispatch for the nearest units to go to the scene, it was Manny Ignacio and his partner who responded first. As Ignacio eagerly reached for the radio to call in, his partner, Mitch Brody, a contented fifteen-year veteran, grinned indulgently. “Quick off the mark again, kid?” he chuckled. “Hey, it’s OK. I know how ambitious you are, Manny. And we’re only five minutes away anyhow. We’ll probably be there before the EMTs! You’ll be a detective in no time, son...” and he patted Manny’s knee in a fatherly fashion as he gunned the engine and shot off towards the university campus, lights flashing and siren blaring. 

Pulling up outside the Fine Arts building, the two cops marginally beat the ambulance’s arrival, and they ran quickly up the steps, nodding in grim-faced acknowledgement at the campus Security Guard who was waiting at the door to show them the way. 

As they made their way up to the third floor, the portly, middle-aged guard filled them in with the little he knew so far. 

“It’s Professor Davies,” he wheezed, eager to offer his opinion whether it was wanted or not. “Although the janitor swears he locked up all the offices after cleaning last night – and we have never had any reason to doubt him – it seems that the Professor let himself in at some point during the night and must have locked the door behind him. There’s a suicide note on his desk, which of course we haven’t touched, and he seems to have made a fair job of hanging himself. I mean, obviously the coroner will know more after the autopsy, but it looks to me like it didn’t take that long you know? I mean, I’ve watched lots of those CSI shows, and some of those vics look like they took a good long time to strangle, know what I mean?” 

“Yeah, well, we appreciate your comments, sir, but I think it’s the detectives you need to speak to, OK? We’ll just check out the scene...” and Manny smiled distractedly as he pushed open the office door, effectively dismissing the guard. 

Knowing the ME was on his way, and the EMTs were making their way up close behind, he wanted to make a quick sweep of the scene first in order to glean as much information as possible in the hope that his commitment and efficiency would earn him plus points with his Watch Commander. 

Taking in the condition and placement of the body, he carefully skirted the immediate area, knowing that the Forensic guys wouldn’t appreciate unwanted footprints and contamination. However, his curiosity was piqued at the sight of the single sheet of paper on the otherwise pristine desk. Moving a little closer, he peered over at the neatly-typed page, which appeared to be printed on the back of a scanned image. 

Quickly glancing over his shoulder, and seeing that his partner was occupied by the arrival of the EMTs and the ME, he pulled a pencil out of his pocket and carefully lifted a corner of the paper. 

And was totally astounded at the glimpse of what appeared to be none other than that fag Blair Sandburg in a very compromising position. 

Letting the paper drop, and controlling his reaction only with a huge effort, he stepped aside with a casual smile as the ME, Dan Wolf, approached the body. He then busied himself with taking care of the elderly Dean of Studies, who had just arrived, red-faced and out of breath, having just been informed of the tragedy in his Department.  


\----------------------  


Events progressed rapidly from then on. After a quick examination and suitable photographs taken from several angles, the EMTs and the uniformed cops carefully lowered Davies’ stiffening body to the ground. Pronounced dead at the scene, Wolf did his preliminary check, then prepared the body for bagging for transport to the morgue. The forensics crew, who had arrived shortly after, began their meticulous sweep of the room, but at least superficially it appeared to be a straight-forward suicide. 

Unable to help in any way on the scene, the Dean retired unhappily to his office to await the arrival of the detectives dealing with the case, as yet unaware of the content of the suicide note or of any reason why his senior Professor should inconvenience him so much by killing himself. 

When the forensics tech carefully picked up the suicide note for bagging, it was seen to be addressed to Detective Ellison and his colleagues in the Vice unit, so they were immediately called in. 

Since Mancini and Fellowes had intended to pick up the Professor that morning for questioning, they hurried to the scene, and reported their findings to Jim. 

Who was horrified at what he heard.  


\--------------------------  


**That morning: Jim:**  


Jim was in a fairly foul mood when he entered the Vice unit’s bullpen that morning. He had also had a terrible night, unable to switch off the distressed sounds coming from Blair’s little room downstairs, but, as the previous night, unsure as to whether his presence would be appreciated. Certainly he was initially tempted to wallow in self-pity, yet the better part of him recognised that Blair’s situation was far more uncertain than his, so he determined to put the smaller man first, and do his best to support rather than clutch at the sympathy that he thought was his due. 

He was genuinely concerned about the possible fall-out from Bartlett’s ill-intentioned accusations, and didn’t need any extra burden of guilt arising from Blair’s possible dismissal from Rainier for an act spurred on by Jim and his colleagues. Rather, he preferred to contemplate the possible future relationship between Blair and himself, now even more certain that the grad student was meant to be his. His Guide, and life-partner. 

But circumstances and/or Fate, whatever, certainly seemed to be doing their utmost to destroy the fledgling partnership before it could become a reality. 

Distractedly acknowledging the scant greetings he received, he sat down at his desk, intending to try and work his way through the pile of outstanding paperwork in his in-tray until Mancini and Fellowes arrived, and he would be able to turn his attention once more onto the Bartlett case. 

After an hour’s solid application at attempting to reduce his paperwork mountain, Jim was roused from his concentrated effort by a call from his colleagues. Picking up the phone, he snapped, “Ellison!” to be totally taken aback by the content of the call. Barely able to register what he was hearing, he listened to Mancini’s clipped tones informing him that Professor Davies was dead, apparently by his own hand, and that his suicide note could potentially damage Blair. 

“Holy shit! Are you at the scene now? Look, I’ll be there a.s.a.p. I don’t want Blair to know about this until I’ve seen for myself, OK? This could go downhill really fast!” 

“Yeah, we’re aware of that, Jim. We’re at Rainier right now, so meet us at the Fine Arts Building. As soon as you can, OK?” 

After informing Captain Sullivan of the scant information he possessed, Jim rushed out of the PD to drive immediately to Rainier, jaw clenched in fury and frustration that the situation had come to a head far sooner than any of them might have hoped or expected.  


\-----------------------  


Jim rolled up to the entrance of the Fine Art building just as the coroner’s van was pulling away, taking Professor Davies’ body to the morgue. Dan Wolf descended the steps and patted Jim on the shoulder in passing. 

“Looks straight forward enough, Detective,” he said. “But of course I won’t know for sure until after I’ve done the autopsy. Mancini and Fellowes are on the scene, and I think they have something they need to show you. Later!” and he continued on his way without waiting for an acknowledgement other than Jim’s distracted nod. 

When Jim reached the open door of Davies’ office, he swiftly took in the scene, spotting his colleagues who were keeping out of the way of the forensic team who were just finishing up. Carefully avoiding the area where Davies had met his death, he crossed over to greet his friends, who looked up grim-faced at his approach. 

Mancini was holding a sheet of paper which had been placed inside a sealed clear plastic wallet to avoid contamination, and he passed it over to Jim for him to study. 

“Hey, Ellison. This isn’t good. We thought you’d better see it immediately before it goes in with the other evidence. You’ll see why...” and he fell silent as Jim began to read, jaw muscles clenching more and more forcefully as he took in the information and everything it entailed. 

He was already shockingly aware that the letter was on the reverse of a scanned copy of one of the very same manipulations used in the attempt to blackmail Blair. Hell, he had studied them enough himself before reluctantly handing them over to Captain Sullivan to deal with as material evidence. The obvious conclusion was that Davies had copied them for his own gratification, and had deliberately ensured that Blair was implicated in everything outlined in his suicide note. He wasn’t going down alone. 

The note itself was clear, concise and damning, and Jim could only be grateful that the full content had so far been withheld from any of Davies’ academic colleagues. 

Davies admitted his complicity in supplying potential models to his ex-student, Stan Bartlett, and also to receiving various sums of money for his trouble. As soon as Bartlett had been arrested for the second time, Davies knew even before Bartlett’s lawyer contacted him that his luck had run out, because Bartlett had made it very plain that he blamed Davies for his downfall. If Davies hadn’t pointed Sandburg in his direction, Bartlett would never have allowed himself to become so vulnerable. Obsession did that to a man, as Davies understood only too well, himself having fallen under the spell of Blair’s unconscious charm. 

Knowing that his name was about to be dragged through the mud, Davies also realised that he would undoubtedly be fired from his position at Rainier. He was well aware that he had no defence against Bartlett’s accusations and the possibility of serving jail-time wasn’t an option. He had no intention of living to become a laughing stock or object of pity and disgust amongst his fellow academics, so was taking the easy way out. 

And he was making very sure that Blair suffered for his poor choice of partner and his refusal to fall in with Bartlett and Davies’ plans for his future. Davies described exactly where a comprehensive collection of increasingly risqué photographs of Blair could be found in his home, including copies of the pornographic manipulations. Certainly it didn’t take a genius to see the latter for what they were, but the implication was there for all to see. Blair had willingly signed up with Bartlett as a model, and there was only his word against Stan’s that he never intended for the relationship to progress further. 

Unfortunately, what the Professor neglected to confess in his note was that he had already sent a set to the Chancellor’s office via the internal mail, and they should be dropped onto that self-important and manipulative woman’s desk by late afternoon. If there was an afterlife waiting for him, Davies intended to have the last laugh after all. 

Wishing the man wasn’t already dead, so he could kill the bastard himself, Jim looked up from his reading. 

“Has anyone else seen this?” he grated. “I’m hoping that Davies’ home hasn’t been searched yet?” 

“Not yet, Jim,” Barney Fellowes reassured him. “But we can’t hold onto this much longer. Sullivan knows that Davies left a note, and he’ll want to know the contents as soon as. We’ll have to give it to the forensics guys to take back to the PD. 

“Look, how about you go to see Sandburg and give him the heads-up? We’ll go over to Davies’ place and see if we can’t find the collection before anyone else gets to see them. Obviously they’ll have to be used as evidence eventually, but if they’re the only other copies, perhaps we can at least do a bit of damage limitation as far as Sandburg’s rep at Rainier is concerned.” 

Nodding distractedly, Jim mused, “Yeah, thanks Barney. I know Blair’s name is going to be dragged into this affair sooner or later, but you’re right. If we can limit the circulation of this crap, maybe it’ll protect him at least from being disciplined by Rainier’s authorities. Can but hope...” he added quietly, unaware that Manny Ignacio had also taken an avid interest in seeing the pictures, and had every intention of using his knowledge to hurt the little creep who had unwittingly forced a tearful and anxious Maria to leave Cascade that very morning.  


\--------------------  


Jim handed the note over to a waiting forensic tech to record and place with the other material evidence collected, thus ensuring that the chain of custody was preserved. All three detectives then left the scene, knowing that it would soon be delivered to Sullivan at the PD, and needing to be on their way. Agreeing to inform Jim as soon as they had any news, Mancini and Fellowes set out for Davies’ address while Jim drove his jeep round to Hargrove Hall, which was on the opposite side of Rainier’s extensive campus. 

His thoughts were in turmoil as he quickly made his way down to Blair’s little office-cum-storage room, knowing that yet again he had nothing but bad news to report. How one young man could have so much bad luck so quickly was beyond him. Except that the wicked little devil perched on his shoulder and whispering in his ear told him not to delude himself. Blair’s run of bad luck had surely begun as soon as he had gotten involved with Jim. Of that Ellison had no doubt whatever Blair might say to the contrary. 

Knocking on the office door, Jim barely paused for Blair’s invitation to enter before pushing it open to meet Blair’s startled gaze. 

“I’ve got some bad news, Chief. I think you’d better come with me...”  


\---------------------  


Keeping his words as succinct and unemotional as possible, Jim explained the current situation to his horrified young listener. When he wound down, and made to rise, plainly intending to usher Blair out with him, Blair suddenly held up a restraining hand. 

“Gods, Jim, that’s just horrible! Poor Professor Davies! I wouldn’t wish that fate on anybody! But I can’t just leave with you, man. I have a class to teach first, and it’s way too late to get anyone to stand in for me--” 

“For pity’s sake, Sandburg! Forget the fucking class! Didn’t you understand me? You’ve been well and truly implicated in both the investigation and Davies’ suicide. You have to come with me to the PD to see what damage control we can do. Because if we can’t keep the lid on this new situation, you won’t _have_ any classes to teach!” 

Gulping audibly, Blair murmured worriedly, “But I thought you said that Mancini and Fellowes were on their way to pick up the pictures. No one else knows about them yet...?” 

Sighing in frustration, Jim replied a little more gently, though still forcefully. “That’s what they hope to do, kiddo, but we can’t be sure that others haven’t already seen them. Davies may well have been lying through his teeth when he told you they hadn’t been distributed yet. We won’t know anything until his copies are safely in our hands also, and you can give your official statement to Captain Sullivan. This has the potential to be way more far-reaching than we could ever have foreseen when we planned the sting. 

“I’m so sorry, babe. I should never have involved you in my crazy scheme.” 

Although he looked as if he wanted to argue further, Blair finally nodded in resigned agreement. 

“OK, Jim. I understand. But I need to call the department secretary. I’ll tell her I’m ill or something, and for her to inform my class I won’t be there...” and he picked up the handset, gazing worriedly at Jim as he dialled. When his call was answered, he assumed his best ‘obfuscation’ mode. 

“Hey, Janice! Look, I’m really sorry to trouble you, but I’m not feeling so good.---No, no it’s just a headache so far, but it feels like it’s going to become a migraine very soon.---Yeah, I’ve had them before as you know.---No, I’ve called a friend. He’s going to give me a ride home.---Look, my problem is that I’ve got the Anthro 101 at 11.00 am.---Yeah, I know.---Could you do me a huge favour and put a notice up for me?---Yeah, something along the lines that they should take the opportunity to revise for next week’s quiz, OK?---Thanks, Janice. You’re a star.---Yeah, I will. Bye!” and he put down the phone and grimaced at Jim. Stuffing his laptop and a few items into his backpack, he said, 

“OK, man. I guess I’ve got the class covered, but what happens now?” 

“Now, Chief, we get to the PD and wait to see what Angelo and Barney come up with,” and Jim stood aside to let Blair precede him before locking up the office and heading for the parking lot, both lost in introspection.  


\--------------------  


**Shortly afterwards, Captain Sullivan’s office:**  


Unaware of the silent communication passing between his two older companions, Blair sat on one of the few easy chairs in Mike Sullivan’s office, hunched in on himself and lost in anxious contemplation. 

Although both hardened and experienced cops, both Jim and Mike empathised with the smaller man; both aware that the next few hours could either exonerate or destroy Blair’s reputation, depending on who, if anyone, had seen Davies’ collection of pictures, and what they might do with the information. 

While waiting anxiously for news from Mancini and Fellowes, the three men had discussed their options in pursuing the case, trying to cover all bases whatever the outcome of the other detectives’ search. The best case scenario was that Davies had been telling the truth, and that he and Bartlett hadn’t yet sunk to the depths of sharing the manipulated images with anyone but themselves. 

On the other hand, they could have been lying through their teeth, and had never intended to let Blair off the hook. Once reeled in by whatever means, they might well have set their sights on forcing the lovely young man to accept their terms of employment and sexual availability, secure in the belief that an unconnected and impecunious young student, however brilliant, had no means of defending himself against the inevitable. Kicked out of Rainier for gross misconduct, Blair would have no option but to turn to them for protection and work. 

Until, that was, it became obvious that Blair had become entangled with cascade PD, and Detective Ellison in particular. 

Staring worriedly at Blair’s down-bent head, Jim was about to suggest fetching them all some fresh coffee simply to break the suspense when Sullivan’s phone shrilled, startling them all. 

“Sullivan. Yeah, Angelo. What’ve you got?” 

With Blair gripping his sleeve, Jim found it easy to dial up his hearing to listen in to both sides of the conversation, certain that under the circumstances Mike wouldn’t complain. 

“Captain, we’re on our way back to the PD. When we got to Davies’ apartment block, the concierge let us in straight away. Apparently Davies had warned him last night to expect a visit from the PD at some point, but didn’t give the reason why. And I’m pretty sure he was telling the truth when he claimed he had no idea that Davies was planning to take his own life. He seemed genuinely shocked, said the guy seemed as calm and pleasant as always. 

“Anyway, the file of photographs was in Davies’ office where he said, so we picked them up. We spent a little longer searching the place just in case there was something else tucked away, but there’s only his PC. I guess it’ll have to be checked over, but for the time being I hope we’ve got the only other hard copies.” 

“OK, Angelo. Good work. Jim and Mr Sandburg are here in my office, so come straight in as soon as you get here. We’ll fill you in on what we’ve discussed so far, and you can add your ideas also. See you in a few,” and he terminated the call, looking up to meet his visitors’ gazes. Jim’s expression was grim but tinged with relief, so Mike was certain that the man had been listening in to the exchange. He was surprised to find that it didn’t bother him in this instance, but if Jim was to continue to use his gifts at the PD, Mike hoped he would exercise restraint where appropriate. 

On the other hand, Blair had only heard Sullivan’s responses, so was staring at Mike, wide-eyed and anxious, worriedly chewing his lower lip as he waited to hear the news. 

Sullivan quickly recounted the conversation, pleased when Blair’s face lost some of its pinched expression as his relief became obvious. 

“Oh man! Thanks, Captain. I just hope that Professor Davies wasn’t holding out on us, and that Detective Mancini really has got the only other copies of the manips. I mean, I know there are plenty of shots of me at The Goldmine, which I’ve no doubt the defence will try to use against me, but they’re not pornographic as such,” and here he hung his head as he blushed in embarrassment. 

“They were getting progressively more suggestive though,” he muttered. “I couldn’t help but agree if Stan was going to keep up his interest in me...” and he glanced up at Jim and Mike, his eyes pleading for understanding. 

“’S’OK, Chief, we know that,” replied Jim gently, patting Blair’s knee. “It was because of us anyway that things got to that stage in the photo shoots, and we’re grateful for your efforts,” and he looked over at Mike, who nodded in agreement. 

“The manips were just a sick way of coercing you into doing what they wanted. And they probably both got their jollies imagining what the real thing would be like. 

“Look, once Angelo and Barney get here, and we’ve pooled our ideas, I think you should go back to the loft, OK? Give yourself a break.” 

Blair smiled gratefully up at him, saying, “Thanks Jim. Perhaps I will. I can use the time to get some grading done, I guess. And I am feeling pretty wiped.” 

Just then, a disturbance in the bullpen announced the arrival of Mancini and Fellowes, who made their way directly to Sullivan’s office. Blair’s worried eyes locked on to the file clutched under Mancini’s arm, and he swallowed hard as the two entered. Although he had already seen the contents, he was still sick with shame that others were going to study them again, even though the cops were aware that the images were nothing but the digitally altered product if a sick mind. 

Seeing the deepening distress and pallor on Blair’s face, Sullivan spoke up. “Look, Mr Sandburg – Blair. Why don’t you leave now? I can promise you that we won’t do anything without your consent, and Jim can fill you in on what we decide. You really don’t need to put yourself through any more today.” 

Gazing at the Captain for a long moment while he considered his options, Blair finally nodded. Hoping the others didn’t think he was being too much of a wuss, he murmured, “Thanks, Captain. I...um...I think I’ll take you up on that. OK, Jim?” he added, looking to the big man for his approval. 

“Sure thing, Chief. You’ve got my spare key, haven’t you? So just make yourself at home, and I’ll see you later.” Offering a worried smile to them all, Blair made his escape.  


\-------------------------  


**Later that afternoon, the loft:**  


Despite his intention to get some grading done and perhaps do some proof-reading of a new paper he was preparing for publication in a well-known anthropology magazine, Blair found it almost impossible to concentrate, his mind distracted by what was being decided in Sullivan’s office at the PD. Pacing nervously in between drinking endless cups of coffee, he felt as if he was almost bouncing off the walls in anxious anticipation even though physically he was approaching exhaustion having enjoyed so little rest over the last few nights. 

Although there was no escaping that fact that he would undoubtedly be called as a witness in Bartlett’s upcoming trial, this latest situation was unexpected and potentially damaging to his personal reputation, and could possibly even affect the verdict depending on how the information was used by the defence. 

He knew that there would be an inquest into Professor Davies’ apparent suicide, but he fervently hoped that there was some way the information and the outcome could be kept out of the public eye. The suicide note was a pivotal piece of evidence, and the contents were intentionally devastating. 

He was screwed. He just knew it. 

Just then, his cell phone rang, nearly causing him to jump out of his skin. Picking it up with no little trepidation, he checked the number. 

Oh shit. 

“Um, Blair Sandburg...?”   


\------------------------  


**That evening, the loft:**  


Jim pulled into his usual parking space outside 852 Prospect, pleased to see that Blair’s ancient Corvair was also there. Although tired, Jim was quietly pleased that he had some reasonably good news to report following his discussion with his colleagues, because the gods only knew Blair deserved a break. Knowing that an open inquest into Davies’ demise could adversely affect the Bartlett prosecution, Captain Sullivan had sought, and finally gained, an assurance that the inquest would be held _in camera_ , the verdict kept under wraps until the Bartlett trial was over. 

Of course, it was very possible that it might be released after the trial if anyone was still curious, but hopefully by that time public interest would have moved on, and Blair’s part in the whole sordid affair would be forgotten. Davies had no known relatives after all, so hopefully there was no one who could benefit from the knowledge. 

Climbing out of his jeep, Jim rolled his shoulders to ease the stiffness in weary muscles, and automatically sent out his senses to check on his Guide, the concept so natural to him now that he accepted it without question. Homing in on the already familiar heartbeat, he turned to face his balcony. 

And immediately forgot about anything else in his urgent need to see the young man for himself. 

Quickly entering the building, he ignored the ancient elevator in favour of racing up the stairs, his worry increasing the closer he got to #307. His hearing locked onto Sandburg, he easily made out the elevated heart rate and heartbroken sobs coming from within, and his sense of smell picked out the sour tang of fear and distress that tainted Blair’s normally enticing unique scent. 

Reaching the loft door, he found it unlocked, and let himself in, too concerned about Blair’s condition to worry about chastising the grad student for forgetting to lock it behind him. 

“Blair? What’s up? Come on, baby, look at me!” and he knelt down in front of the shaking figure huddled on his sofa. 

Blair was curled up tightly in the corner of the sofa, arms wrapped protectively around his head, and momentarily unaware of Jim’s presence. Flinching when Jim gently grasped his wrists, he moaned in distress as Jim carefully but firmly pulled his hands away from his face. 

“Come on, Blair. Open your eyes, kiddo. Look at me, and tell me what’s wrong. Come on...” Jim kept repeating as he cupped the smaller man’s tear-stained cheeks in his palms. 

Blair’s face was a mess, wet from tears and mucus, mouth and chin trembling from the effort of trying to control the sobs that still rattled in his chest. When he finally opened red-rimmed eyes to meet Jim’s worried gaze, Jim’s heart clenched in pity at the hopeless devastation in the blue depths. Instinctively knowing what was needed right then, Jim moved up to sit beside his roommate, and simply pulled the smaller man onto his lap, tucking the curly head into his shoulder as he offered the only comfort he could, cuddling Blair close and rocking him until he regained a modicum of self-control. 

Soon Blair’s arms wrapped around his waist as the young man accepted the offered support, and Jim was gratified when Blair’s grip tightened until he was clinging to Jim for all that he was worth. 

“Sshhh, babe, it’s OK, I’m here,” he murmured soothingly. “Whatever it is, you can tell me, Chief. When you’re ready.” And he surprised himself with his own patience, realising that he meant every word. 

Eventually, the sobs subsided, and Blair’s white-knuckled grip on Jim’s shirt slackened. He slowly pushed himself up and away from Jim’s chest, but kept his eyes averted, a blush of shame and humiliation creeping up from neck to hairline. However, Jim was having none of it, and raised a hand to press against Blair’s cheek, gently encouraging his companion to meet his gaze. 

“S s s sorry, man. Didn’t mean to l l lose it like that..,” Blair stuttered, voice hoarse and throat sore from the prolonged crying jag. 

“M m made a m mess of your shirt...,” he added, brushing ineffectually at the large wet patch on Jim’s shoulder. 

“Not a problem, Chief,” responded Jim, knowing the younger man was trying to distract him. 

“Now, how about telling me what’s wrong? What’s happened, Chief? I know you were worried when you left the PD, but nothing like this. So what’s happened in the meantime?” 

Pushing himself off Jim’s lap, Blair settled down beside the bigger man, hands clasped and elbows resting on his knees. Head down-bent, he pressed against Jim’s side, unconsciously seeking comfort as he haltingly recounted what had transpired that afternoon. 

As he finished his tale of woe, Jim’s hard-won restraint finally gave way, and he erupted in fury. Although instinctively aware that Jim wasn’t mad at him, the aggressive reaction still caused Blair to flinch away in automatic self-preservation. 

“Fucking bitch!” Jim raged. “She can’t do that! What grounds has she got to fire you, Chief? She surely needs more reason than a packet of obviously digitally altered pictures sent to her by a vindictive and perverted bastard!” 

“Jim, please!” responded Blair anxiously. “Chancellor Edwards has always had it in for me, man. I guess I haven’t been the quietest and most manageable student she’s ever had to deal with. And this has just confirmed her belief that I’m more trouble than I’m worth. 

“Gods, Jim, when I got into her office and saw all those sick pictures spread across her desk; I knew I was done for. The expression on her face, man. She looked at me as if I was dirt! She knew very well that they weren’t real, but she was holding the note Professor Davies included in the envelope. She made me read it, man. 

“He told her everything, Jim, but with embellishments. He made it sound as it was me who had pushed him into getting an introduction to Stan because I’d gotten such a kick out of posing for his art class. Made me sound like a greedy, manipulative bastard. One who didn’t have the morals to continue teaching at a reputable school like Rainier. 

“She didn’t give me a chance to defend myself, Jim. Just said I was a disgrace to the faculty, and that it was my fault that a respected Professor had felt obliged to take his own life rather than seek help for his ‘addiction’. She finished by saying that if she could have her way, she’d like to see me locked in a cell with the key thrown away! As it was, she told me to get off campus and not come back until my disciplinary committee had met, and I was summoned to hear their verdict. 

“Gods, Jim, I don’t know what to do! I’m so scared...” and he tailed off, eyes filling with tears once more as the apparent hopelessness of the situation hit him again. 

Knowing that further ranting would do no good even if it relieved his own pent-up fury, Jim controlled himself with a valiant effort, not wanting to scare and upset Blair any more than he was already. Reaching over to grasp Blair’s hands in his, he said, “Look, Chief, I know everything seems impossible right now, but you’re not alone, Blair. You won’t have to face this on your own, I promise. I’m going to call Mike Sullivan and explain what’s happened, OK? Because it’s very likely that he’ll intervene on our behalf. It’ll be partly for your sake, Chief, because he’s an honourable man, but it’ll also be because of the ongoing prosecution. 

“See, what I was going to tell you when I got in was that we’ve managed to secure a private inquest on the grounds that public interest in Davies’ suicide and confession could adversely affect the outcome of the Bartlett trial. I’m sure if Edwards can be convinced that acting on her emotions will have a detrimental effect on the verdict, as well as leaving the U open to scandal, she’ll be forced to back down. Allowing you to be pilloried and held up to ridicule will serve no useful purpose. 

“And besides, if she doesn’t, I’ll be going to see her myself...!” 

Although Blair’s instinctive reaction was to beg Jim to leave well alone, he couldn’t help but feel a tiny bud of hope at Jim’s determined words, as well as an inner glow he could barely recognise, so unaccustomed he was to it. A glow of warmth and comfort kindled by the knowledge that for once he had a friend. For once he didn’t have to face everything alone and unaided. 

Grateful blue eyes seeking Jim’s, he hitched further round in order to face the bigger man properly, and Jim had to swallow around a lump of emotion at Blair’s earnest words. 

“Oh, Jim, thank you! You don’t know what it means to me that you want to help me, man! I...I mean, no one’s ever been there for me before, man. Don’t get me wrong, my mom Naomi did her best by me, but she was never...well... _there_ all the time when I needed her, you know? So I learned really fast not to depend on anyone but myself. 

“Even if we can’t do anything about my being fired, it means so much to me that you and Captain Sullivan would at least try.” 

And Jim reacted by wrapping his arms around the slender figure again, ridiculously pleased to be able to do so at last without being rebuffed or having the kid go into melt-down in terror. 

“Anytime, Junior, anytime! Now, I’m going to call Mike, and we’ll see if we can’t get all this mess sorted out.”  


\-----------------------  


The next couple of days were hard on both men, Blair in particular as he wavered between hope and despair while awaiting the outcome of Chancellor Edwards’ decision. As Jim had predicted, Mike Sullivan had gone to see her, prepared to be reasonable, but in the face of her extreme hostility had resorted to intimidation of his own. 

Although she was well aware of Davies’ involvement with Bartlett thanks to the note and images the man had sent her, she had initially reacted instinctively in condemning Blair as the principle protagonist in the whole sordid business. Certainly she had looked upon the affair as a means to be rid of an annoying, if brilliant, thorn in her side, and her genuine desire to shield Rainier’s reputation meant that she was quite prepared to destroy Sandburg’s in the process. 

However, once Sullivan had forcibly pointed out that Blair had been acting on the instructions of the Vice unit, and was an innocent party as far as the pornography images were concerned, she began to waver in the face of the man’s obdurate attitude. He pointed out that Rainier’s Art Department was already besmirched in the face of Professor Davies’ actions, and no good could come of allowing one of her anthropology TAs to be unfairly and publicly persecuted in such a way. Better to let things be and allow the furore to die down as quickly as possible. 

Naturally he failed to point out that once the Bartlett trial got under way, Rainier, and probably Blair also would be once more in the forefront of public interest. Let her worry about that when it happened. 

Bowing to the inevitable with very bad grace, Edwards agreed not to take the matter any further, and Mike Sullivan had to be content with that. At least she hadn’t taken steps yet to begin any official disciplinary measures against Sandburg, so hopefully his short absence would pass unremarked by his colleagues and students. 

However, she had no intention of letting the young man off the hook immediately whatever she had agreed to, and took her own sweet time in informing Blair of her decision. She didn’t take kindly to being threatened, and was quite prepared to take some of her vindictive revenge out on the hapless young man. 

Consequently it was a good two days before she summoned Blair again to her office; two days which had a marked effect on both men, but not necessarily in a completely negative way.  


\------------------  


Knowing that Blair was so very fragile, Jim asked for and was granted some personal time to stay at home with his friend. Since Ellison hardly ever took time off, Sullivan had no problem with giving him a few days, his own concern for Sandburg niggling at his conscience. 

Consequently, Jim had the time and opportunity to progress his seduction of his Guide, surprising himself with his patience and determination even as he did his utmost to provide whatever support the young man required. Certainly, he wasn’t totally imperturbable. He was only human, and sometimes Blair’s despair hit him too deeply for him to maintain his controlled demeanour. But on the other hand, he had never felt so responsible – so protective – of another individual in his life before. He had never taken his responsibility for his team during his time in the armed forces lightly, his sense of duty paramount. But for Blair – his Guide – it was imperative. He didn’t care if it was a Sentinel thing, although that probably had a lot to do with it. As far as he was concerned, it was a Jim/Blair thing, and he was going to consciously modify his attitude and very personality if that was what was demanded of him for Blair’s sake 

For Blair, the time wore on his nerves and wore down his reserves of resilience and innate optimism more than he could possibly have foreseen. Despite his instinctive wariness, exacerbated by his assault, he couldn’t deny his increasing attraction to Jim, and he was deeply grateful for the big man’s honest attempts to cheer him up, even to the point of coddling to an extent he had never before experienced. But he was unable to accept yet that Jim wouldn’t eventually grow weary of pussy-footing around a whimpering bundle of nerves and raw emotions, which was how Blair saw himself. 

However, he was so grateful for the respite; he jealously clutched Jim’s current goodwill and support to his heart, storing up the warmth and caring against lonely days to come. 

On the morning of the second day, Jim and Blair were desultorily finishing up their breakfast when the telephone shrilled, shattering their introspective silence. As Blair looked on wide-eyed, Jim picked up the handset, offering Blair a reassuring grin as he answered, “Ellison here.” Maintaining eye contact with Sandburg, he listened carefully until his caller paused for breath, then responded. 

“Thanks Mike. I’ll tell Blair. No, we haven’t heard from the witch yet, but hopefully it won’t be too much longer. Thanks for letting us know. Speak to you soon. Bye, Mike.” 

Putting the handset down, he moved over to where Blair stood, and took the smaller man’s hand in his own. “Don’t look so scared, babe. It’s good news. Well, relatively speaking. That was Mike, as you probably realised. Davies’ inquest is over, and the official verdict is what we hoped for. Davies took his own life ‘while the balance of his mind was disturbed.’ The coroner accepted Mike’s sworn testimony that your inclusion in the pictures was malicious, and that you were an innocent party. It seems a little too fortuitous, but let’s not question the decision however it was reached. We need a little good luck for a change! 

“Anyhow, the good thing is that it’s one less stick for Edwards to beat you with, so let’s hope she’ll bow to the inevitable and come up with what we want to hear.” 

Allowing his answering smile to become tinged with a little hope, Blair sighed in relief as he responded. 

“Oh, man! That’s so cool, Jim. I was so convinced that just about everything about this whole affair was going to hell, Big Guy. Even if Edwards doesn’t reinstate me, at least for the time being I won’t have to suffer my image being spread all over the front page of ‘The Cascade Times.’ Not yet, anyhow,” he added, courage slipping once again. 

“S’OK, Chief” responded Jim comfortingly. “Even now it may never come to that, and in the meantime you should cut yourself some slack. Whatever you’ve been telling yourself, you had no conscious part in Davies’ death. He deserved everything that was coming to him as far as I’m concerned, just like Bartlett. 

“Now, is there anything you’d particularly like to do today? Because I think we both deserve a bit of real relaxation, don’t you?” 

“Um, well, I can’t think of anything right off, man, but we haven’t tested the range of your senses for a while now. I feel as if I’ve been negligent in that department, man, and I’m sorry about that. How about we take a walk to the park by the waterfront and do some practice?” 

And Jim was too pleased to hear the returning enthusiasm in his Guide’s voice to deny him anything.  


\-----------------  


The afternoon proved to be surprisingly enjoyable for both men as Blair guided Jim through various tests, trying to come up with practical suggestions for isolating individual senses and attempting to establish Jim’s range. Pleased to witness the gradual resurfacing of Blair’s bounce and confidence, Jim good-naturedly submitted to the student’s instructions, knowing that Blair only had his well-being in mind. 

Eventually, however, enough was enough, and he called a halt, his head beginning to throb with the effects of too much concentration. 

“Oh man, I’m so sorry!” Blair immediately apologised. “I got so carried away, I didn’t think! I’m sorry, Jim. You must think me really crass and unsympathetic. Look, let me help with that,” he continued, referring to Jim’s headache. 

“Sure, Chief. I’m listening,” replied Jim with pained grin. “The dial thing, yes?” 

“Yeah, that’s right, Big Guy. Listen to my voice, and feel my touch, OK? Now, picture that dial for pain, man, and turn it down a notch at a time...” 

Grounding himself on the soothing tones of his Guide’s voice and the warm touch of his hand, Jim did as instructed, finally smiling contentedly as the pain in his head subsided. 

“Thanks, Junior,” he said, ruffling Blair’s curls. “Got to say that’s a neat trick of yours, and it’s getting easier to do, as long as you’re with me. Perhaps there’s hope for this old Sentinel yet!” 

And Blair laughed delightedly, all anxiety banished for the moment. “I aim to please, my Sentinel!” then his face became serious again as he realised what he’d said. And realised that he really meant it. 

Turning to face Jim, he held the taller man’s gaze as he swallowed hard. Speaking softly but firmly he repeated, “I _do_ aim to please, Jim. If I can help you, I will. If you still want me to, that is?” and his face betrayed his nervousness as he waited for Jim’s reaction, even now fearing rejection and ridicule. 

“Oh, I want, Chief!” responded Jim equally softly, but sincerely. “I promise not to push you harder than you can take, but I want you Blair. We’ll take it at your pace, but if I’m going to use these ‘gifts’, it’ll only be because you’re helping me. 

“Now,” he continued, looping a casual arm around Blair’s shoulders, “Let’s get back to the loft. I feel the need to eat, so I’m hoping you’re going to offer to cook,” and he was more than pleased to hear Blair’s cheerful response. 

“Anytime, Big Guy! How does tofu casserole sound?” and he burst out laughing at Jim’s look of horror and mock growl of disgust.  


\----------------------  


The cheerful and relaxed bantering lasted until they entered the loft, when Blair’s face fell in apprehension, having seen the message light blinking on Jim’s cordless phone. 

“Oh man,” he whispered softly. “Do you think that could be her?” and his round eyes peered worriedly up at Jim. 

Squeezing the smaller man’s shoulder encouragingly, Jim replied, “There’s only one way to find out, Chief,” and he gently pushed Blair towards the machine. Swallowing hard, Blair pressed ‘play’, then flicked his eyes back up to meet Jim’s supportive gaze. 

_‘Mr Sandburg. This is Chancellor Edwards. I have had time to consider your position here at Rainier, and I believe I may have acted a little hastily. Although I do not condone your choice of part-time employment, I am led to believe that you acted in good faith, and therefore are not responsible for the resulting tragedy._

‘You are therefore requested to return to your post at Rainier tomorrow morning, and I trust you will exercise better judgement in future. Good day.’ 

Blair huffed out the breath he didn’t realise he was holding, and sank down on the nearest sofa as his legs gave way in sudden reaction to the release of tension. 

“Oh, man! Oh, goddess! She’s forgiven me! I still have a job!” and he beamed at Jim, eyes slightly teary and face aglow with emotion and relief. 

Smiling in response, Jim squatted in front of Blair, and took his hands as he replied, “That’s great, Chief. I hoped Mike would have been able to convince the bitch to back down, and it looks like it worked. I’m really pleased for you, kiddo,” and he pulled gently, encouraging Blair to come into his arms. 

And if the cynical part of him still despised the woman’s attitude and didn’t trust the motives behind her more moderate response further than he could physically throw her, he kept his misgivings to himself, content now just to hold Blair and be happy for him.  


\------------------------  


**Epilogue: Any Way You Want:**  


Over the next few days, the two men settled into a comfortable routine as Blair returned to Rainier and Jim went back to the PD, at least insofar as their domestic situation was concerned. As Mike Sullivan had predicted, Blair’s absence went pretty much unnoticed by most of his acquaintances at the U, although his closer friends asked him how he was, assuming he had been ill and solicitous of his well-being. He didn’t disabuse them of the notion, because it was partly true anyway if you counted the residual effects of the drugs and his assault. 

Grateful for the trouble-free and seamless return to academia, he threw himself back into his research and teaching with a will, although he ensured that he made himself available to Jim whenever he was needed. However, that was proving to be more difficult than either of them had imagined, since Jim was loath to expose Blair to more of the nasty side of Vice than absolutely necessary. Wanting to protect his Guide as much as he could, he refrained from using his senses except in exceptional circumstances when he was reasonably confident that he could control them. When he and Blair did meet up during the day, it was only to provide Jim with some ‘grounding time’ to see him through his shift. It was certainly true that both men benefitted from the opportunity to reconnect, which convinced Blair that it was further evidence of their developing Sentinel / Guide relationship. 

It was definitely an unsatisfactory state of affairs as far as the frustrated Sentinel was concerned, and Blair was well aware of what Jim was doing, but he couldn’t convince the older man that he was prepared to try to ‘harden up’ for Jim’s sake. 

“You need me with you, Jim! You know I want to help you, man, even if it means going with you into dangerous situations. I trust you to look out for me, Big Guy, and you’ll be able to use your senses properly with me there.” 

“That’s not the point, Junior,” Jim had tried to explain with a sigh of regret. “Not that I want you to have to toughen up anyway, but Mike won’t let you ride with me. Having a civilian in the field just isn’t possible as far as he’s concerned, especially after what happened to you before when we called on you to help us out. 

“But I think there may be a way. Leave it with me, and I’ll look into it,” he added mysteriously. “I promise I’ll let you know if anything comes of it, but I don’t want you to get your hopes up too much, OK?” 

And Blair had to be satisfied with that, because he knew very well there was no way he could prise any more information out of the stubborn cop until Jim was good and ready to divulge it.  


\------------------  


As more days passed, Blair was forced to curb his impatience, because Jim remained obstinately closed-mouthed as far as the situation at the PD was concerned. It wasn’t easy for the inquisitive young man, but he didn’t want to risk annoying Jim any more than he could help because he was finally beginning to feel a little more confident of his place in the big cop’s life. There was no way he wanted to jeopardise a relationship that was becoming so important to him even though the ramifications were still scary. 

Jim had become the unwitting centre of his universe, and not just because he represented Blair’s Holy Grail in modern Sentinel terms. He couldn’t yet rationalise his own reactions to the man, because he had never before in his young life been tempted to commit himself to another, but the fact remained that the compulsion was there and he was going to have to learn to live with it. 

As far as Jim was concerned, he was increasingly satisfied with the evidence of Blair’s growing commitment to him, although he wasn’t in the least bit blasé regarding the inevitability of their bonding. He had deeply-buried trust issues of his own, so he could well understand Blair’s nervousness. And after all, the kid was a good ten years younger than Jim; not even old enough to drink legally, although that landmark date was only a couple of months away. His conscience nagged at him for wanting to tie such an innocent soul to him, but the Sentinel within demanded that he do so. His primal self might well accept that it was forgone conclusion, but Jim the man was determined to take it easy as he had promised Blair. However frustrating, he would go at the pace at which his young Guide was most comfortable. 

To this end, he gradually increased his touches, using every opportunity to pat, stroke and even hug Blair, keeping his movements natural and unthreatening as he accustomed the smaller man to accept physical contact. And he congratulated himself on his success as Blair seemed to respond positively to the tactile stimuli, even to the extent of occasionally releasing a waft of pheromones – proof positive as far as Jim was concerned that a full, sexual bond would be the eventual outcome if he could be patient enough.  


\---------------------------  


Blair let himself in to #307 and looked around, hoping that Jim was already home. Spotting the older man sprawled comfortably on the sofa in front of the TV; he grinned happily and almost bounced over to join him. All afternoon he had been on tenterhooks after hearing Jim’s message left on his cell phone that lunchtime that he had some good news to relate, but that he wanted to wait until after work to tell Blair in the comfort of their home. 

As Jim smiled fondly at his hyper young roomie, Blair plopped down on the sofa beside him, hitching round so he could see Jim properly. 

“Well, come on, man! Give! I’ve nearly been climbing the walls in anticipation, Big Guy. I’m sure my students thought I was on something during the last lecture. Put me out of my misery, _please_ , Jim!” and he gazed beseechingly at his friend. 

“OK. OK, Junior. I can see that your curiosity is just about driving you nutso. It’d be cruel to keep you in suspense any longer I guess,” and at Blair’s enthusiastic nodding, he continued. 

“Right. Well, you know I already told you that Mike didn’t want you riding with me? And I didn’t like the idea of exposing you to the seamier side of Vice anyway, Junior. God knows I’ve had enough of it myself! So I thought I’d see if there was an alternative.” 

When it looked as if Blair was about to comment, he held up his hand, saying, “Not yet, please, Blair. Let me tell you the whole story, and then you can let me know what you think, OK? 

“Anyhow, a new Captain has been appointed to the Major Crimes Unit. Apparently he comes highly recommended, and he’s already doing the ‘new broom’ thing, and shaking up the department. The reshuffle meant that there was an opening for a detective, so I applied for it with Mike’s blessing. And I got it, Chief,” and he was gratified at the almost worshipful expression on his Guide’s face. He could tell it was taking all the younger man’s self-control not to butt in, so he carried on quickly. 

“Thing is, Chief, I know that it’ll still be dangerous – I mean, it is Major Crimes after all – but less of the sick stuff I’ve had to deal with during my stint in Vice. But the most important thing is that Mike seems to think there’s a better chance of getting you to ride with me if we give it some thought. I mean, Captain Banks will have to know about me, I guess, but Mike agrees with me that we shouldn’t broadcast the Sentinel stuff. There’re enough of my colleagues who think I’ve got some sort of weird edge, and I don’t want to elaborate on it. And between you and me, Mike’ll be glad not to have to deal with it anymore.” 

Unable to refrain from responding, Blair blurted out excitedly, “Yeah, you’re right, Jim. I’m not sure modern society is able to deal with someone as gifted as you yet, and you sure don’t need the bad guys to know. They could figure out all sorts of nasty ways to try and use your senses against you. 

“Um, but...if you want to hear it...um...I had been thinking about how to get to ride with you?” and he tailed off, anxiety getting the better of him again. 

Reaching out to take Blair’s hand, Jim squeezed it encouragingly as he nodded in invitation. “Of course I want to hear it, kiddo. Come on, tell me.” 

Still nervous, and biting his lower lip for a moment longer, Blair straightened up slightly and began. 

“OK, well. You know my diss committee wanted me to choose another topic for my doctoral paper? Well, I’ve been giving it a lot of thought, and I think I’ve decided. I mean, I can’t write about you, man, even if you’d agree to it. It wouldn’t be right, because I couldn’t keep your name out of it, and like I said, you can’t reveal your abilities until society’s able to deal with you – er – us,” and he blushed and ducked his head briefly at his audacity, thus missing the look of satisfaction that flashed across the Sentinel’s face. Taking a deep breath, he looked up again and continued. 

“Anyhow, I decided I’d like to do my diss on closed societies – like the Fire Service, and the PD in particular. You know, the ‘Thin Blue Line’ stuff? I know the concept sounds corny, but it’s true, and what better way to gather the information I need than to ask for a ride-along pass so I can observe how a detective works in the field?” and he gazed earnestly at Jim, tacitly begging for his approval. 

He needn’t have worried, because Jim’s face was wreathed in a delighted grin. 

“Well, all I can say is that I’m really grateful, Blair. If we can swing it, as far as I’m concerned it’s the ideal solution. If you truly are happy to change your topic from modern Sentinels to closed societies, then I’m all for it. After all, in years to come, if circumstances and opinions change, you can always write about me then, and I wouldn’t mind at all. 

“I’m still worried about you getting into dangerous situations if you ride with me, but I’ll do everything I can to protect you, Chief. I think it’s a Sentinel imperative to protect the Guide. After all, without you, I can’t function as a working Sentinel. We’ve already established that. 

“And I’m thinking that if we were to bond fully, the connection would be even stronger...” he added persuasively, voice now taking on seductive tones as he decided that now was the right moment to pursue his goal of finally making Blair his own. 

Gulping nervously, Blair met Jim’s warm gaze, his own round-eyed stare captivated by the power of the older man’s focus and determination. _Oh goddess! It’s really happening! I’ve been dancing around him all this time trying to figure out how I feel, and now I can’t put it off any longer! But can I do it? Will he laugh at me...?_

“Oh man. I...you...I mean...Oh shit! I’m sorry, Jim. It...um...it’s just that I can’t...No, that’s not right, I mean I can, but... Oh goddess, can I start again?” he whispered sheepishly, peeking up at Jim from beneath lowered lashes, and looking about twelve years old. 

Expression now gentle and understanding, Jim smiled and cupped Blair’s pinked cheek in a warm palm. 

“What, my little professor stuck for words?” he said in gentle mockery. “It’s OK, babe. I know it’s a big decision for you, and I’ve tried not to force the issue because I know you’re still wary of me and what this bond might mean to us. I understand, kiddo. Truly. But I have to say that I want you, and if you can bring yourself to trust me, I’d be the happiest man – and Sentinel – in the world.” 

Leaning into Jim’s touch, Blair closed his eyes for a moment then straightened up again, meeting Jim’s eyes with determination even though it didn’t take Sentinel vision to detect the anxiety in the blue depths. 

“Thanks, man, for not laughing. I mean, I’m embarrassed here, and nervous, but if you can bear with me, I’d like to try to explain how I feel. How I need for you to see where I’m coming from. Because I’ve thought about this a lot, Big Guy. But I’m still not sure if I can put my feelings into words. But I’ll try if you’ll let me?” 

“Take your time, babe. Just let it out, and we’ll take it from there,” and Jim grinned reassuringly as he settled down to listen, schooling himself to really hear what Blair was about to tell him rather than scaring him off and shutting him down with an impatient dismissal. _Kid’s having quite an effect on you, Ellison. Patience was never your strong suite. But for Blair, I’ll give it my best shot._

Taking a moment longer to marshal his thoughts, Blair finally began. 

“This is going to be hard for me, Jim. I just hope I can find the right words. See, I’ve never had the urge to commit to anyone before. When I was a kid, travelling around all the time with Naomi, there was just the two of us most of the time, unless Naomi was involved with someone. Which actually happened quite a lot, I guess. Wherever we landed up, there was usually someone she’d hook up with for a while. Mostly men, but occasionally another woman. See, she always told me that if you love someone, the package didn’t matter, so I’ve never had an issue with that. Except that girls are safer as far as I’m concerned, man. I mean, although I’ve been happy to look, I’ve always been scared of things getting out of hand. I’m not exactly Mr Macho after all. 

“Anyway, Naomi’s got this whole hippy thing going about spreading the love, you know? I mean, I don’t even know who my real father is, and I’m not sure she knows either. But it didn’t exactly inspire me to make lasting connections, man, because we were always on the move, and it was too painful to lose the few special friends I did make. 

“I guess what I’m trying to say is that this time I feel a real connection to you, man. I think – I’m sure - that it’s more than a Sentinel and Guide thing. I think I’m falling for you. Jim, the man. But I’m so scared of my own reactions to you. You know what happened when you grabbed me in the warehouse. I was so ashamed, because I felt turned on by you handling me like that. I mean, I’ve always hated pain, and after Stan’s groping and hurting me, that confirmed it for me. 

“But it’s different with you, man. I mean, I don’t want you to hurt me, but I think I want you to take me – take control of me. Gods, this is so hard! Look, man, can you bear with me a bit longer while I try to explain why I think that is? Please?” 

Completely focussed on Blair’s words, Jim nodded easily in affirmation. “No problem, Chief. It’s plainly something you need to get off your chest, and if it helps me to understand the bonded Sentinel/Guide dynamic better, then that can only benefit both of us.” 

“Thanks, Jim. See, I think it does have a lot to do with the nature of the individual roles in a Sentinel and Guide partnership. As I see it, the Guide has a huge responsibility to live up to. As we already know, he or she has to be able to ground the Sentinel any time he uses the senses, to prevent zones and watch his back. But it’s more than that. The Guide also has the responsibility to monitor the Sentinel’s environment so that he or she isn’t hurt by adverse reactions to chemicals in cleaning products, preservatives in food, scratchy material, etc., etc.” 

“And you’ve already started doing that for me, haven’t you, Chief? I’ve noticed you sneaking eco-friendly products into the loft, and you’ve changed my laundry powder, haven’t you?” Jim commented kindly. “You’re careful with what you cook also, aren’t you? And I’ve got to say I appreciate the effort, kiddo, very much.” 

“Um, should have guessed you’d notice, man,” Blair murmured, blushing even more, but offering Jim a wry grin. “But since you didn’t call me on it, I thought you were OK with it, so I carried on. 

“Anyway, what I concluded was this – and don’t shout at me, please, man,” he added, expression serious again. When he saw nothing but encouragement in Jim’s expression, he continued. “Right. Well, I think this is how it goes – for me at least. I think that because the Guide has so much responsibility – power, if you like, since the Sentinel relies on him so much for control - the roles reverse when it comes to the bonding act. The full sexual one, that is. The Guide needs to relinquish responsibility to the Sentinel, who takes full control in the bedroom. Um, does that sound too weird, man? I mean, like I said, I don’t want to be hurt, but I would submit to your demands in bed, I think...” and here he dried up completely, desperately shy and praying that he hadn’t left himself open to some serious mockery. 

Jim contemplated the young man in silence for several minutes, assessing his own reactions to the impassioned words. He knew Blair was desperately nervous, and could easily make out the tremors beginning to rattle the slender frame, but he needed a moment to gather his own thoughts together. He certainly didn’t want to scare Blair off with an overly aggressive response, because what he had experienced was an intense surge of pleasure. He was enormously satisfied with Blair’s conclusions, and his libido was responding with glee, urging him to take his Guide, and take him now. 

Controlling himself with a gargantuan effort, he reached over to take Blair’s hands in his. Gently stroking the soft skin over Blair’s knuckles with his thumbs, he gave his reply. 

“You amaze, me, babe. In the best possible way. I realise how much courage it took to tell me all this, and I truly appreciate your honesty. I think you’re very likely correct about the Sentinel and Guide roles, but even if it’s just a Jim and Blair thing; I can certainly go with that. Because I want you, Blair, and I’ll never hurt you intentionally, I swear. I totally accept responsibility for making our bonding as enjoyable as humanly possible for you – for us both, and I couldn’t be more grateful for the gift of your trust. And I already know you’ve accepted responsibility for me and my environment. 

“Come to bed with me now, babe, and let’s cement our bond.” 

And Blair agreed.  


\----------------------  


In the lazy aftermath of their love-making, Blair snuggled up to his Sentinel, head pillowed on the broad chest, and content to spend a few minutes contemplating their coupling before joining Jim in slumber. Yes, he’d been nervous. Seeing Jim’s amazing body stripped naked for the first time had made him gulp and tremble. The sleek muscles and very prominent cock nearly caused him to have a panic attack, wondering how on earth his virgin body – virgin to male lovemaking, at least – could possible cope with penetration. But he had given Jim his word, and allowed himself to be used as Jim desired. And his willing submission turned out to be truly wonderful and liberating. 

Jim had lived up to his promise. Yes, he had been forceful, positioning Blair just so, and preparing him to his satisfaction, but he had been incredibly patient and careful, willingly shouldering the responsibility he had acknowledged to make their mutual joining an amazing experience for them both. And when the moment of truth arrived, with both of them climaxing within milliseconds of each other, the bond between them blazed into brightness, granting them each a flash of enlightenment in which they learned everything about each other, becoming instantly as one; two souls joined for life. 

And they had shared the same vision. 

In a blue jungle, a sleek black jaguar and beautiful silver wolf ran joyfully towards each other, leaping together to merge in a burst of light as their spirit animals mirrored their own joining. 

With sleep dragging at his eyelids and a small smile on his face, Blair’s last thoughts were of contentment. He knew very well that their lives weren’t going to be easy. He still had to obtain his observer’s pass, and he still had to face up to his involvement in the Bartlett trial somewhere down the line. But he was no longer alone, and never would be again. He had a Sentinel to love and cherish, who would love and cherish him in return, and he was sure that together they could overcome anything life could throw at them.  


\---------------------------  


In a shabby apartment across town, Manny Ignacio gloated over the pictures spread out on the scarred table in front of him. Thanks to the connivance of his friend in charge of the evidence store, he had ‘borrowed’ a few of the choicest images of Ellison’s little faggot friend and made clandestine copies of them for his own purposes. 

He was in no hurry, but there would come a time when he could use them to his advantage. He grinned knowingly, eyes hard. 

Revenge would be sweet. 

**The End?**


End file.
